Nobody Important: Listener
by N3k0
Summary: Alyssia the Bosmer: nobody important, died of stupidity. Sometimes, Sithis asks the impossible. Sometimes, so too does the Empire. Can an assassin be loyal to the Empire? And if she follows through with her orders, will there be anything left of her? R&R!
1. Chapter 1: Sweet Teeth

Author's Note:

Rated M, for Money. I mean ... strong language, violence, and suggestive themes.

Insert Obligatory Disclaimer Here: If you recognize it from the game, it's probably not mine.

I don't own Eddy Izzard either.

* * *

**Nobody Important**

_**Chapter One: Sweet Teeth**_

_In which Valen Dreth may or may not have consumed a celebratory bottle of skooma._

By: N3k0

* * *

She had killed more men than she cared to count - forty-two - and was imprisoned.

For picking a lock.

On a display case.

She was still kicking herself for getting caught in such a ... ridiculous manner.

She imagined her tombstone would read well.

"Alyssia the Bosmer: Nobody important, died of stupidity."

She waited for the guards to return to the cell. Maybe her life sentence would be delivered because of the nondescript, hand-written notes detailing her contracts.

Maybe it would be the inordinate amount of stolen goods she'd had in her possession.

Or maybe it would be the small book she carried, titled simply, _The Five Tenets._

Whichever reason, she was sure she wouldn't live to regret her mistake for long - there wasn't much time before sunlight crept over the horizon and flooded the room.

She sat against the wall beneath the cell's only window, and waited.

There was a dark elf across the way, a Dunmer male who wasn't quite sure what she was, yet. Well, no. He knew she wasn't Khajiiti, nor was she an Argonian - her shape was all wrong, and she didn't have the tail required of either the cats or the lizards.

He could make out the basic shape, even tell that she had the long, pointed ears her kind was famed for - but she kept to the darkness of the cell, and the guards hadn't really mentioned her race. They had, however, commented on her eyes - they were apparently 'creepy.' She couldn't blame the men; her eyes were nearly the same crimson as those of the dark elf across the way. She could only hope the other prisoner would be so fooled. Her chalk-white skin was kind of dirty, after all, smudged with brown and gray.

It was her fortune, then, that he leered at her, eyes skimming her form with a hunger that made her skin crawl.

"I must _surely_ be dead and in the halls of Azura to look upon such a vision." He grinned, pressing close to the bars of his cell. He hoped to get a better look at her - and against all her instincts, she had to let him.

Crawling skin or not, it'd _work._

She looked at him, a predatory smile she hoped was seductive creeping over her face. "You _are_ beautiful, my dear Dunmer maiden." So easy ... "One of the guards owes me a favor, you know. You and I could share a cell ..." She nodded, enthusiastic, crawling forward. The sack-cloth shirt was hardly the fuel for most peoples' fantasies, but she was betting he hadn't even seen a female in so long he almost forgot what they looked like.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? A little fun before the end?" Another nod. End? She had no intention of dying, particularly not if he pulled through.

"Such a quiet one. Rest well, my pretty lady. You and I will get _much_ better acquainted soon." Lyssi hoped so, even if it wasn't in quite the way he thought.

* * *

_Somehow_ she managed to fall asleep; somehow, she managed to dream. That was _never_ a good thing. Tonight, she dreamed the walls were closing in - the confines of her cell pressed in close. She felt herself pressed between two walls, until she couldn't breathe; there was no room. Then the ceiling started closing in.

Slowly, but surely, she was crushed, ground into dust and aware for every second of it.

* * *

She woke, her mouth held tightly shut, hearing the inhuman whimpers before she realized she was the one making them. She rubbed her forehead with the sleeve of her shirt, smelling salt and just the faintest hint of copper.

She needed to feed. She felt her cheeks, the way her cheekbones protruded ever so slightly, the way her face was just a little gaunt. She probably looked just a little older than her bare twenty years. She was a child, compared to most elves.

She decided to look around. The world seemed just that little bit brighter, and she could see the heat, the life, in the other cells. Especially the one across the way, murmurs between her prospective cell mate and a guard were presumably what woke her. Maybe - maybe it was just her nightmare, though.

The cell bars squeaked, the telltale, signature sound many old iron gates made, then clanged shut. "Hey, now, is that any way to treat your _old friend,_ Valen Dreth?" Lyssi kept her eyes shut, so she wasn't entirely sure what was happening to the Dunmer, but she could hardly care, so long as he was kept alive.

Her cell squealed open, her heart thumped just a little bit faster. It wasn't something she could help - the prospect of freedom, of escape from the tiny, claustrophobic space was incredible. It was only her need for sustenance that kept her calm, kept her guise of sleep intact.

A wash of scent - he was filthy, unkempt, unclean - and yet something about him smelled ... sticky-sweet. She could hear his heartbeats - fluttering, fast.

"Yeah ... yeah, you're a pretty one. We'll have fun, you and I." This, he murmured. His next words, he called out, probably to one of the guards. "You can watch, if you like! It's not my fault _you're_ stuck in this rat-infested hole with me. It's even a prelude - you'll get to see what I'll do to your wife when I'm free!" Another clang - might have been a mailed fist against the gate, and then the tromp of boots walking away. They were rejecting a free show?

Strange.

A hand, rubbing her breast. He apparently felt like getting right down to business. Fine with her. She opened her eyes, suddenly, grinning ferally. Lunging forward, she clamped her teeth down on his throat. He froze in place, his fingers flexing. Every pump of his heart seemed to result in another squeeze. It made the whole thing _obscene_, but necessary, nonetheless. He passed out, a slight grin on his face, and she rolled him off of her, muttering a healing cantrip that came out more as a curse. The tiny pinpricks where her dainty little fangs had torn into his throat sealed over. She rubbed her own chest, repeating the chant. She would have had a bruise. Eugh. She shook her head, feeling the fizzy rush of power.

She looked down at the Dunmer, speculatively. There were bones about, and even an empty bottle. Hm.

* * *

Strangely, none of the guards really commented about the pale, drained-looking form of Valen Dreth, quiet for once, propped up in the corner. They also didn't really question the red bottle of 'wine' she propped up next to the corpse.

She, on the other hand, did question the presence of guards and a nobleman inside her cell. She tilted her head to the side, not really paying attention to the conversation. She was full, she was content. Something about some sons or something. She didn't kill no one's sons. Or at least, they didn't know if she had.

"Why are these prisoners in here?" Well, this prisoner did many bad things.

_As have I._ And what was going to be done about it? _Well ... drink four Bloody Marys and you won't remember!_ She giggled, head thumping back against the wall. She was sitting, too. Like her Bloody Mary was sitting. Was she hallucinating? There were voices, and noblemen, and guards. She probably was. Had Dreth been on skooma? He'd tasted sweet, like sugar.

Sugar in the blood, under the moon - still shining down. Moonlight was what was filling her cell; that was important. For ... some reason anyway.

She poked Dreth, asking him if he'd been on skooma in a very general, quiet, mental sort of way. Unsurprisingly, she received no answer. Then again, if she was hallucinating, shouldn't the corpse have answered?

Something about a mix-up with a guard, and a cell to be kept empty. If they needed an empty cell, they could use Dreth's. He wasn't using it anymore!

"I ... I've seen you." The nobleman looked astonished. "Let me look at your face." His voice was quavering, like she was some sort of Messiah or ... some such thing. She grinned lazily, tilted her face back, and lit a ghostly light a little above and a little left of herself. It wavered a bit, as her concentration hiccuped.

"Sire, this one isn't ... isn't right. Leave her alone." The pretty female guard placed one arm, restraining, across the nobleman's chest. He shook his head.

"No ... no. I recognize her, Renault." He looked to the woman; the woman was looking scathingly at the waif who dared interrupt her progress. Apparently, the woman was named Renault. "I have seen her, in my dreams. Girl. What is your name?"

She didn't talk. She didn't. Not ever, not since ....

"L ... Lyshi. Lyssi." She nodded firmly, on the second try. She felt like it was important to answer this man truthfully. He was full of life. Pulsing with it, for an old man. That necklace of his did too. A giant ruby on a chain, an am-you-let. Amulet! It was pretty. And magic. She was pretty sure it was pretty magic. She giggled again.

"Lyssi ..." He looked thoughtful.

"Sire, we must _go_." The lady tugged at the noble's arm.

Someone did ... something, on her right. Lyssi stopped paying attention, looking up at the ceiling, eyes not really focusing. There was a thump, and then a grinding noise. Her head lolled to the side, she watched a gaping, black maw open. A door-thing. Crazy.

Then everyone filed out of her room but her, and her friendly corpse. The black man looked down on her with something like contempt. "Today's your lucky day, prisoners." And then he was gone too. Fortunately, the corpse wasn't getting up to follow, because then she'd have to kill him again. Zombies were just a little bit creepy, if you actually knew them before they died.

Or, Lyssi thought so anyway. Anyway, she didn't want to be left alone.

There came shouts, screams. Something about dawn breaking. Breaking what? Glass? She didn't like dawn, for ... because ... stuff. But she didn't _think_ dawn broke very much.

"She's dead, sire. Let's keep moving."

And then no sound at all issued from the gaping maw that was also quite possibly a door.


	2. Chapter 2: Ashes

Author's Note: One big update, cut into lots of little chapters so I don't kill you with a wall of text.

Reading and Reviewing is like love.

But not physical love.

Because that'd just be weird.

IODH: If you recognize it from the game, it's probably not mine.

* * *

**Nobody Important**

_**Chapter Two: Ashes**_

_In which fire burns. Really._

By: N3k0

* * *

Lyssi eventually found it in herself to stand up, primarily because corpses didn't really provide good company, and actually started to stink a little after a surprisingly short amount of time. She walked through the blackness to find another whole handful of maroon-robed corpses, and an armored corpse. One of the guards, the lady-guard who didn't want the noble talking to her. Hnh. She kicked the red-robe away from the dead lady guard, surprised to see a sword beneath the corpse. Wouldn't they take valuable things like that?

Well, they hadn't. Nor had they even done the most basic scavenging tricks, like, looting potions and poisons from corpses. Then again, they probably couldn't tell the difference.

A sword and some poisons and some potions. Lyssi called herself fortunate, and continued forward until she found a locked gate and a busted open section of wall. Rats had begun their own scavenging work - two of them. Lyssi wrinkled her nose in disdain, but let them work, creeping past. She wasn't the sort to mutilate rats - or any other animals - just because they were there. It wasn't like she ate them, unless she really, really had to, and their meat contributed to none of her favorite concoctions.

The busted-open section of wall seemed to be the way to go, and so she followed it, lifting a number of lock picks from yet another corpse. She was pretty sure this dungeon-crawling experience was marked by the fact that the really-dead-for-good people actually outnumbered the dead-and-walking people and the living. Of course, she was actually crawling, so her pace was rather slow. She'd find more moving people if she was faster. It was just so confined, though, a far cry from her beloved outdoorsiness.

She tickled the tumblers of one of the Poorly Locked Treasure Chests that seemed to dot the subterranean landscape like the wayshrines of the surface world. They were inexplicably everywhere. Her giggles at the way her mind had phrased the tickled tumblers nearly made her snap her newly acquired rusty implements of DOOM. And lock-breaking.

She was really, definitely, maybe, possibly high.

Maybe biting Dreth hadn't been the best of ideas. She giggled. Oh well!

She attached the sack of gold to the belt that was also in the poorly locked treasure chest, then put on the leather armor instead. She contemplated swallowing the bag of gold, but figured it would probably be very hard to retrieve her wealth that way; she fastened the belt over the armor.

Why there was a leather shirt, and leather boots, and some gold in a poorly locked treasure chest, but no weapons at all inhabited the same, she wasn't quite sure. Maybe it just wouldn't fit. Or maybe it was the treasure chest for closet pacifists. Which would explain why everyone was dead? People who didn't fight often ended up that way.

And then a zombie attacked!

Well ... more or less, the zombie moaned in an angry sort of way behind her, and she turned around, and there was in fact a zombie. At first she thought it was Valen Dreth, raised from the dead and shambling around. That was, more or less, why she proceeded to cut it into little pieces with the sword she'd found on the dead lady-guard. At which point it turned out to be a more or less nondescript zombie, and not in fact Dunmer at all. Still, better to have hacked a corpse into little bits than ... not be safe?

She liked the katana. It wasn't a dagger like she was used to, but it was still bladed, which made it infinitely better than her fists, which were her only other weapons, really. Unless she wanted to jab lock picks into peoples' eyes. Except some zombies didn't even have heads, which really denied them eyeballs, too.

She continued crawling forward, opening a door which was also the only door, unless she thought the well would go someplace useful like the well in Cheydinhal did, which it did - it went to the Sanctuary.

But she didn't think this well went anywhere useful at all, so she didn't treat it as a door, and so went through the only door, using a key which she'd found on a dead goblin's corpse.

The dead, living and otherwise, definitely outnumbered the not-dead. Or undead, or whatever. She was starting to get a creepy, eerie impression of this place.

And so it went, into a larger cave with rats in pens and goblins everywhere.

That wasn't really a good thing. Goblins were weak, but some of them knew magic, and where people knew magic, people often knew fire magic, and fire magic burned. It was kind of a side effect of it being fire magic. Even blissfully drugged as she thought she might well be, except that she totally wasn't, because she was completely fine if just a little HYPER, she knew fire was very, very, bad, and, in fact, something to fear. Terrified of, even. Except she couldn't be bothered to be terrified, because fear really kind of sucked.

She put her serious face on, trying to will herself sober. It sort of worked. She was still buzzing with nervous energy, but now it almost annoyed her, and she mostly wasn't suffering the delusions or the giddiness. Mostly.

Maybe.

She was very, very, good at passing without trace. Using a variation on the light spell from before, she snapped her fingers, attracting momentary attention, but magically altering her own form; she became invisible.

She walked forward about five feet, still being very serious. Seriousness was boring, she decided. On the other hand, paying little or no attention to her surroundings, she found that flinging herself to the ground so that she was lying flat on her stomach could be somewhat amusing, especially when it was a spiked barrel swinging down at her face that necessitated such an action. She adjusted her eyes, focusing. The heat, the lifeblood of small human-like creatures showed to her sight, the darkness seeming like day to her.

Creeping forward, using her hands for balance in her crouch, the katana slung carelessly across her back, she realized that the goblins definitely knew there was an intruder now. The guards, the ones in armor, started bounding in their silly little goblin way, checking their perimeters. She unsheathed the lady-guard's katana, popped the cork on one of the slimy, ichor-like poisons, and slathered the blade with it.

Then, she walked up calmly, her invisibility spell well and truly intact, and disemboweled one of the goblins, its blood spraying her. She snapped her fingers.

There was a high ledge going around the large cavern, and a pit in the center where they kept rats in pens. Lyssi circled the cavern, soundlessly, the goblins themselves hardly breathing as they tried to spot her. For several minutes, the only sounds were those of murder - the splatter of blood, the sickening noise of entrails smacking against the ground, the thump, thump, thump of bodies falling. Where her previous mental trick hadn't completely managed to dispel her earlier drugged cheer, the solemn work of slaughter completely killed it.

Goblins were sentients too. Not very bright, weak in every fashion, but sentient, and snuffing out lives wasn't something Lyssi did lightly.

One of them stood atop a pile of rocks, speaking high-pitched, rapid gibberish. A spell caster, or a madman. Mad-goblin? One or the other. She walked up behind it, the same as the other goblins, thrust the katana into the goblins back. Only, it wasn't his back anymore. He turned on her, seeing nothing, but shrieking the last syllable of his ranting. Fire exploded in her face as the sword pierced the goblin, who tumbled over backward.

The goblin apparently managed to tumble over his own, personal, slightly charred, poorly-locked, treasure chest. He proceeded to roll down the rocky hill into the pit of rats, which began tearing at his body, which was also slightly burnt, though not very burnt, and in fact more or less untouched by the fire.

Lyssi found this out well after the fact, having fallen back. Her scream caught in her throat as a matter of habit.

Fire! Fire, fire, everywhere fire! Her skin felt like paper, burning to ash. She was burning alive, until she died, and she had to put out the fire ... She rolled on the ground, writhing, helpless, and clawing at her face. The healing chants she chattered off in sunlight completely escaped her now. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. She should have died instantly, she was sure she should have.

Instead, she curled up in a tight ball, shuddering, stuttering out the beginning of the most familiar spell she knew. It yielded almost bizarre results, this time, possibly due to the severity of this injury. She felt like her entire face disintegrated, skin creeping over it to replace what had been destroyed. She wasn't sure how long the process actually took - it felt like a torturous eternity. Eventually, it was complete, eventually she felt like she could move. She completely ignored the black, sludgy substance on her hands, on the ground. She didn't want to see that.

She crawled down the small mountain of rocks. Even though it wasn't a dagger, it was a high-quality blade, and not a resource she could justify lightly discarding. She made it to the little green bastard's corpse, noting that she'd added to the corpse / living and pseudo-living ratio of the excursion. She added further to it by ripping the katana from the broken body and slashing horizontally, catching a leaping rat and sending it flying. She then eyed the rocky hill, which more closely approximated a rock wall from this angle. Sighing, she sheathed the katana, muttered a curse, and began to climb.

A sharp pain heralded the realization that another rat had latched its teeth into the seat of her pants, and had no intentions of letting go. Which ... really wasn't a good thing. It would be worse if the animal were diseased, though not much. She didn't get sick.

Instead of turning to dislodge the creature in such a precarious position, she finished the climb, and then reached behind herself, squeezed the sides of its jaw, so its mouth opened, and quickly tossed it back down into the pit. It ... probably wouldn't die on impact, anyway. Holding her maimed ass with one hand, she yet again mumbled a healing spell, almost hearing a tiny series of pops as the bite wounds closed.

She knelt in front of the mad-goblin's poorly locked treasure chest, snapping the first two lock picks the rammed into the lock before she calmed herself down. After that, the lock was ridiculously easy to tap open.

She found some gems, this time, small stones that twinkled with light. These, she swiped into the pouch of coins. Some looked flawed, all of them were tiny, but each was usually worth at least a gold Septim. Not a bad haul, though it'd be worthless if there wasn't actually a way out of here. She scanned the cavern again, spotting a door, this time. Nodding to herself, she walked over to it, kicked it open.

It opened to an old elf-ruin. Ayleid ... Eyelid. Another quiet giggle. The heartland high elves, the elves nobody ever saw anymore. There were Dunmer, and Bosmer, and Altmer - the newbie high elves who were the most-good with the magic ... sort of. She didn't really visit the highly trapped, highly magical, ruins often. Though, really, everyone knew the Imperial City was built on Ayleid ruins. Its crown jewel ... so to speak, other than the actual crown jewels, and the amulet ... was the White-Gold Tower, which was huge ... and also a standing, fully functioning, ruin. It also housed the real, true, honest-to-Sithis Elder Scrolls. That would make a person go blind and also very, very, much insane, if they were stupid enough to read them.

Ayleid ruins usually were infested with the walking - and floating - dead. And sometimes bandits. With that in mind, she drew the sword from her back, clutching its hilt with both hands. Ghosts sucked. Lyssi only knew one spell to harm ghosts, and it was a fire spell. Fortunately, there didn't seem to be ghosts. She snapped the katana out horizontally, knocking an unwary skeleton's head down the corridor. Another rounded a corner, attracted by the noise, spotted her. It drew the bow clutched in its bony fingers.

Fire flared in her shoulder where the arrow pushed through, but she ignored it, running down the corridor as fast as she could. She hacked at the skeleton, slashing diagonally. It took a handful of cuts, rather than one massive swing, in part because she hadn't caught the dead thing off-guard, but in part because her shoulder flared with pain on every strike. When the bony bits lay at her feet, she snapped the arrow off, hearing the head drop off behind her. The damn thing had really hit her, and she punted its skull a little ways farther in annoyance.

The healing spell was rapidly becoming her most useful, but as soon as the incantation was complete, she snapped her fingers again, darkness claiming her form, since light wouldn't touch it. Invisibility was next to godliness. Sort of. To Lyssi's mind anyway. Still, the healing spell held the wound together so she didn't drip out a trail of blood leading right to her poor, unguarded, back.

Shouts echoed before her, familiar shouts. Past recognizing that she'd heard them before, she ignored the meaningless screams about the dawn, listening instead to the people shouting about protecting the Emperor. Emperor? That couldn't be right. He was just some noble escaping the city to avoid some ....

The real, honest-to-Sithis Emperor?

She rounded a corner, registered several facts at once.

It was bright, she was forced to rely on her normal vision.

The guards were about to be overwhelmed.

A sword was swinging downward at the noble, who was (maybe) the Emperor.

She might have teleported, she reacted so fast, gritting her teeth as the back of her borrowed katana cut into her palm. The smell of blood, the startled-looking cultist, behind the mask. He'd had a clean strike only seconds before, after all - of course he'd be surprised to find a sword blocking him, and a frail little girl behind that. She grinned, shoving backwards, throwing him off-balance, and drove the sword into his stomach. Then, she kicked him off of it, looking around for another victim.

Finding none - they were mostly dead or dying - she relaxed, sheathing the katana.

In time to find a sword point at her throat. Hells.


	3. Chapter 3: Of Questions and Duress

Author's Note: And here's the violence. One more chapter for now.

IODH: If you recognize it from the game, it's probably not mine.

I don't own anything I reference, either, honest.

* * *

**Nobody Important**

**_Chapter Three: Of Questions and Duress_**

_In which a wild dialogue has appeared!_

By: N3k0_  
_

* * *

A sword pointed at her throat.

If she knew anything about blades, she'd guess it was another katana, not all that different from the one slung across her back.

She knew a fair bit about blades.

Wielding the katana was either a would-be assassin who had looted it -

"Damn it, it's that prisoner again!" A furious yell. "Best kill her! She might be working with these assassins!"

- or one of the Emperor's guards. After she'd just saved his life. Some gratitude. Her gaze slid down the back of the blade to rest on the man, and she stared at him, evenly. She said nothing. If he was going to kill her, she wasn't going to dignify this idiocy by pleading for her life.

"No ... no." The old man. One of her ears flicked very lightly, but she kept her eyes on the one who would behead her. "She is no threat to me. She saved my life."

"That one? She's surely nothing more than a worthless skooma addict!" She didn't respond. She'd given him no reason to think otherwise, honestly ... "Like that other one .... That Dunmer fellow. Where's he, huh?" The guard looked around, smirking, himself. "What, was he too high to chase freedom?"

She continued watching him, evenly. He met her gaze, for a minute or two at least. She wasn't surprised when he was the one to back down - he even pulled his sword away from her throat.

"Girl ... Lyssi." The Emperor's voice was curious. "Have you any idea what transpires here?" She looked around, shrugged. A nod followed the shrug. It was pretty straightforward, in her mind. Some red-robed assassins had come to kill the Emperor, and the Emperor himself was fleeing the city to avoid that fate.

Idle curiosity made her wonder if the red-robes were competition for the Brotherhood, or merely fanatics to whatever cause craved the instability of the Empire.

"Will you help us?" Another nod. He didn't look surprised by it. However, he did take a moment to survey his guard, to see what disposition they held on the matter. "They do not understand why I trust you." He leaned in, so their conversation might be slightly more private, even with the two human men hanging onto every word

"They've not seen what I've seen." Another thought. All this talk of skooma made her wonder if the Emperor himself were an addict. It wasn't so far fetched an idea. Apparently reading her skepticism, he sighed. "How can I begin to explain it ...? You know of the Nine? How They guide our fates with an invisible hand?" Only one hand for nine people? A sad day for them all.

She shrugged.

"I've served the Nine all my days, and I chart my course by the heavens." Astrology. Her luck had been sour of late. She wasn't entirely sure she trusted the stars. "The skies are marked by numberless sparks. Each is a fire, and every one a sign." He watched her, curious, a slight twinkle in his eyes. "I wonder. Which sign marked your birth?"

And thus began Lyssi's slight bout of terrible discomfort. She didn't like others prying into her business, and even such basic information felt like a violation of her privacy. He had her name, did he need more? Still, grudgingly, the word, "Thief," escaped her mouth.

"Speak louder. It is not something to be ashamed of, after all. Each of us travels our own path, and though our path is marked by the stars, in time, we may each rise above it." He smiled, encouragingly. He acted as she imagined an old friend might, rather than a disaffected nobleman. Perhaps that was why she found herself taking a liking to him. Still ... it was her business, not his.

"The Thief," she repeated, nevertheless.

He nodded, seeming unsurprised by her answer. As though he expected it ... or, even more bizarre, had heard her give it before the words had first crossed her lips.

Not that she believed in the mumbo-jumbo star-magic business he was spouting or anything - he just had an eerie demeanor.

"The signs I read show the end of my path. My death, a necessary end, will come when it will come." He seemed resigned to his fate. No ... not resigned. He accepted it wholeheartedly. "As for you, your stars are not mine. Today, the Thief walks beside you - today, the Thief guards your steps."

The Thief hadn't 'guarded her steps' in years. She felt as though she'd run out of luck long ago. Or at least, good luck. Still ... suppose he wasn't deranged, or skooma-addicted. Suppose that he was wise, and that even so much as a grain of truth was to be found in his words. What could be learned from such a person? What questions should she ask of him?

"Do you fear Death?"

It was one question she'd always been curious about. How did others face their end?

His smile was genuine, but ... indescribably sad. "No trophies of my triumphs precede me, but I have lived well, and my ghost will rest easy." He shook his head, suddenly. "Men are but flesh and blood. They know their death, but not the hour. In this, I am blessed to see the hour of my death. To face my apportioned fate, and then fall."

It was unfathomable to her. Even as naught more than a Bosmer, she had the opportunity to outlive this man by what seemed like eons. As something ... more ... she had the chance to extend her existence by ages beyond even that. It was almost awe-inspiring.

This human of less than a century faced his death with such ... serenity ... that even mer rarely attained in their seemingly near-infinite lives.

"My dreams grant me no opinions of success. Their compass does not venture beyond the gates of death. But, in your face I see the sun's companion." ... By Sithis he did. "The dawn of Akatosh's bright glory may banish the coming darkness. With such hope, and with the promise of your aid, my heart must be satisfied."

She knew their overarching objective of being elsewhere before the assassins could kill this brave old man, but she hadn't any idea of the specifics, especially after they'd escaped the city. "Where are we going?" If anyone would know, it would be the Emperor.

"I go to my grave. A tongue shriller than all the music calls me." There it was again. The same, sad, smile. "You shall follow me for a while, and then we must part."

The brown-skinned human eyed her appraisingly, as the other two males began to depart. They'd wasted too much time with chatter already. "You may as well make yourself useful. Here, carry this torch and stick close." He shoved a lit torch in her face. In her face. Of course, he probably meant for her to simply hold it, but it felt like he was trying to char her flesh. She already felt herself blackening ....

Seeing her panic, Baurus - she thought that was his name, anyway; she'd been a little bit maybe-high when she'd first heard it - shrugged, and kept a grip on the torch in his off-hand. "Guard the Emperor then. You're strong enough."

* * *

Lyssi had no doubts whatsoever that they were being followed. It might have been the subtle pitter-patter of little feet. It also might have been simply that, when she so much as turned to look over her shoulder in a reasonably darkened area, she felt the heat of two distinct lives behind her, saw the ghost-light of their lifeblood running through their veins.

Every time she went to investigate, however, more assassins threw themselves on the swords so deftly wielded by Baurus and The Other Guy (as she so fondly dubbed him). Definitely not the work of the Brotherhood, nor any agency wanting to compete.

"The gate is barred from the other side! It's a trap!" This statement, with the epitome of human intellect it implied, was made by The Other Guy, himself. Well, shouted, in a room where shouting actually felt like it might damage sensitive ears.

What surprised her was the Redguard's response. After all, Baurus had seemed rather smart. Or not. He seemed to trust Lyssi, after all. "What about that side passage back there?" He used the torch to point back the way they'd come. Lyssi pointedly avoided being anywhere near the fiery death-stick when it moved. Any humanoid with half a brain left in their skulls would probably have done the same!

Because the un-barred, un-guarded gate hanging wide open was not the trap. She rolled her eyes, waiting until the two Blades had their backs turned to make that gesture. She felt eyes on her anyway - the Emperor's. He seemed to find her reaction funny. She would have called him on it, but, well. He was the Emperor. And probably going to die down here. Let him have fun.

Regardless, she edged closer to the old man, scanning the shadows for their tail. Strange ... it had waited just out of normal sight. They knew this way was barred, and still they hadn't followed their quarry into the room....

"It's worth a try! Let's go!" And so they went, the Bosmer keeping watch behind them. It eventually reached the point that it would have likely been more practical for her to have turned around and walked backwards.

The Emperor's voice in her ear, murmured quietly. "You know, if you keep your head turned that way long enough, it just might twist right off."

The quiet humor startled a bark of laughter out of her, she covered her mouth with one hand. Priceless. Facing his own imminent destruction and he found time to crack jokes.

"If you've ... seen ... something behind us, Lyssi, might it not be better to tell them?"

At this, both Baurus and his fellow guard turned to look, and surprisingly, their human sight caught the maroon cloaks against the almost total darkness. A curse from Baurus, albeit under his breath, as the other man very nearly yelled, "They're behind us!" He did temper his emotions enough to speak in a slightly calmer tone for the second sentence. "Wait here sire."

Baurus turned to Lyssi, his voice low, almost inaudible. "Wait here with the Emperor. Guard him with your life." No, no! These were his guards. They were the ones wearing oversized tin cans! They should stay here and wait, and Lyssi could go dispatch of their tail!

The two men were gone before she could get a word in edgewise, screaming battle cries as they rounded the corner and engaged with their foes.

The slight rattle of a chain. The human beside her had decided to begin removing the blood red stone. She realized, however belatedly, that the thing held power. To her, it looked like ... like the blood of a dragon, or a god, crystallized. It held her gaze - and her tongue - until he'd completely removed the gemstone from around his throat.

"I can go no further."


	4. Chapter 4: Bloody Mess

Author's Note: So yeah. Here's the fourth chapter. There's a lot more to go, but we're finally ... more or less ... out of the starting zone. That's something.

So ... yeah. I could post more, or I could, y'know, not.

It really depends on if there's any interest - if I'm the only one lookin' at my stuff, and that to make sure it's not a total eyesore ... why bother posting it? I could share it with the friends who've read it already.

Read and review - I'll even take flames if you're into that kind've thing. I'd prefer honest critique - if it helps me become a better author, I'll take what I can get.

This is a Disclaimer: If you recognize it from the game, I probably don't own it. Except possibly in alternate dimensions that have no bearing on our own.

* * *

**Nobody Important**

_**Chapter Four: Bloody Mess**_

_In which everything falls to pieces._

By N3k0

* * *

What?

The old man, the Emperor, was offering her his amulet.

She was clearly hallucinating.

She'd thought the tainted blood had worn off by now. It seemed she was wrong.

"You, alone, must proceed." The Emperor pressed the amulet into her hands, wrapped her fingers around it.

"You, alone, will stand against the Prince of Darkness and his mortal servants." She shook her head. No, no, he had it all wrong. The Emperor became insistent, his features hardening, urgency filling his voice. "He must not have the Amulet of Kings!"

Lyssi pulled her gaze from the Amulet long enough to realize its blinding light hid another, more vibrant aura - a young man, advancing on their position though a wall of solid stone separated them. Her eyes narrowed, she grabbed the Emperor's arm in her free hand. If she failed, she would do as he asked. She had _no_ intentions of failing.

The Emperor the Amulet. Give it to Jauffre. He alone knows where to find my last son. Find him, and close shut the jaws of Oblivion." She nodded once, sharply, but kept her gaze over his shoulder. "I have ... faith. You will do the gods' work, before the end." Actually, depending on one's stance on Sithis, it could be argued she already did the gods' work ....

Behind the Emperor, the sound of stone grinding against stone, a 'secret' door sliding open. The young male held his conjured weapon in a two-handed grip, waiting only for the door to stand open completely. He lunged forward suddenly, planning to run the Emperor through.

Her left hand was free - she dragged the Emperor aside in plenty of time to get skewered herself. That hadn't actually been the intent, mind. The flare of white-hot pain wasn't enjoyable, nor desirable, and probably rendered her right arm useless. The assassin grunted in surprise as the frail little girl's blood splattered him. She heard, more than felt, the jarring thump that marked a boot into her stomach, breath escaping her lungs. Another loud thump reached her ears before the pain registered, before she quite realized she was suddenly sitting down. She pulled herself to kneeling, choking back a scream of agony. Her right arm was useless.

The assassin hacked into the Emperor's form, again and again, his strikes wild, frenzied, his expression behind the mask seeming to be one of fanatic glory. The remaining Blades were both still busy fighting. They didn't even know their leader was dead. Maybe it was the futility of it all, or the fact that she'd actually liked the old man, in what time she'd had to know him.

Maybe it was the scent of blood on the air. Later, that was what she'd think. So much blood had been spilt. That was what spurred her on - the unreasoning instincts her condition graced her with. Nothing more.

No matter the source, though, rage filled her, washed over her. It numbed the pain in her shoulder, flooded her form with strength. She leapt, shoving the cultist into the wall, hearing his bones crunch with a sick sense of satisfaction. She ripped at his throat, tearing into him with her fangs. Within seconds, the conjured armor vanished in a cloud of yellow vapor that smelled of rotten eggs. She absently realized she was slamming the man into the wall, and, more importantly, the wall was cracking under the onslaught.

"He's DEAD." One of the guards - she didn't know which, she didn't much care. Probably about the Emperor. "Let him go, girl." Meaningless words.

"Lyssi!" The voice belonged to Baurus. She turned to look at him, blood running from her mouth, her fangs bared. She gave something of a hiss, turning back to her victim, to her prey. "Stop this madness." His voice was even, level. Like she was an animal. She knew that tone of voice. After all, she'd heard her own people talk feral beasts down. It was supposed to be calming, soothing.

It was bullshit. The Emperor was dead, and this nothing had been the killer. This prey.

"If you don't stop, I'll have to treat you as a monster." His words were measured, his bloodstained sword still held at the ready to cut, to kill. "That's what you are, isn't it? Vampire?"

She pulled away from her prey, almost as though the corpse himself had been the one to slap her. Not that there'd been a slap, at least, not a physical one. She was behaving like a creature, like a thing. No better than prey. Her … Vicente … had taught her to be ... better.

She hung her head, regaining her composure. She tasted the sweet, sweet nectar on her lips, felt the warmth of it spilt down her chin, wasted. She didn't need to feed anymore. She hadn't, probably since she'd killed Dreth. She looked back over at Baurus, unsure what he would read in her expression. He sucked in a breath, looking, at the very least, quite startled. Not scared, exactly. Just...surprised, somehow.

"Not all of us are monsters." It was one of the longest phrases she'd uttered in a very long time. Her gaze remained fixed on Baurus. She was practically getting chatty. She felt her right shoulder, the limb seeming to become worthless once more, now that the threat was gone. Was the threat gone? The Other Guy, the guard whose name was never really mentioned, was circling behind her, quite likely to attack, and her with one arm hanging limp.

Well, not totally limp. She had somehow kept the Amulet clenched in her palm, holding the powerful relic so tightly that she thought she might have burnt away some of the skin there. She looked down at it, opening her hand to inspect the treasure for what it was.

"The Emperor give you that?" At her nod, he looked thoughtful. "He wanted you to do something with it." Her gaze met his once again. "In all the time I knew him, Emperor Septim never once did anything without a good reason. Sometimes, I swear, he knew what I was going to do before I did. It was eerie, but I trusted him. I still do."

Her voice felt scratchy. She didn't use it this much. "His son."

"The Emperor's sons ..." Baurus winced. "They're dead."

Lyssi shook her head, slowly. "Jauffre."

"What, him? He's the head of the Blades." Baurus nodded, rolling that idea around in his head. "Yeah ... if the Emperor did have another son? Jauffre's the one to talk to. He lives at Weynon Priory now, near Chorrol."

"We're going to trust her? First, a prisoner in the Imperial City Prison - what was she even in for? Might have been murder, might have been treason!" The Other Guy's voice held accusation. He clearly thought she was a monster. "And now this?" He gestured at the fallen corpse of the assassin, the throat torn almost completely out, a pool of blood under the man. "She's a monster, Baurus. Put her down and take the Amulet to Jauffre yourself."

Baurus turned on The Other Guy. "You know as well as I do how short-handed the Blades are. How many have been killed this night alone - how many more will be before this crisis ends?" He pointed at Lyssi now. "This girl, this creature, whatever she may be. Notice the way she favors that right arm? See the gaping wound? Whatever else she is, she took a blade for our Emperor. What Blade wouldn't?"

"She's not a Blade, Baurus! She's a monster! And maybe you'll notice that the Emperor's dead, and she isn't?" The Other Guy took this opportunity to point down at the mangled remains of the old man as evidence. Lyssi couldn't bring herself to even look at the carnage.

Her kills were clean. By Sithis, her kills were clean, in comparison.

"Look at her. She's hardly a threat to us, at least right now." Baurus began his argument on a very convincing note.

"And later? What of the rest of the Empire? She's a creature. A blood-drinker, a monster." Said monster wondered if they were going to address her in person, or if they were simply content to discuss her as though she weren't there. She thought she might be going into a little bit of a shock. Did vampires even do that? "She was high as a kite when we met her. She's irresponsible at best, dangerous at worst! What happened to her cell-mate?" He glared at her. "I'll bet he's dead! Killed to fill that appetite, no doubt!

"The Emperor himself charged her with this task. Don't you trust his judgment?"

"The Emperor is DEAD!" In a sudden flash of logic and wisdom, Lyssi realized that The Other Guy might be having a tiny bit of a breakdown.

"Listen, girl." Baurus, at least, had apparently decided she was a person enough to actually speak to directly. "This thing the Emperor has asked you to do is very important." On the other hand, he spoke as though she was slow. Having gotten past her diseased nature, he'd decided that her lacking interpersonal skills indicated mental problems. "Will you do it?"

She nodded, once again. Of course. Satisfied with her answer, Baurus sent her into the sewers beneath the city. Not feeling especially paranoid, Lyssi still would have sworn she felt the Other Guy's eyes, like daggers, piercing her, long after his ability to actually see her should have failed completely.


	5. Chapter 5: Memory

Author's Note: n_n Thank you for the nice review! I shall keep that in mind – it's a huge part of Lyssi's character, after all, what she is, and how she thinks most people would treat her if they knew.

I base part of my perception on how a starving vampire would behave on the World of Darkness – shameless theft, I know – and part of it on the fact that I use a mod that makes almost all of your attributes go down when you hit stage four vampirism. It always bothered me that _not feeding made you stronger._ So, mod. Amusingly, having all your attributes at a minimum after fast-traveling someplace rather distant is a strong impetus for finding someone to eat ASAP. Especially if dawn is coming – there's kinda a panicky "AUGH I'M 'ONNA DIE AND I DIDN'T SAVE RECENTLY" reaction. Blood becomes the player character's primary motivation – everything else kinda falls by the wayside.

For a little guide, though I'd hope it was obvious enough without – the italic paragraphs are not happening in the present.

IODH: If you recognize it from the game, it's probably not mine.

* * *

**Nobody Important**

_**Chapter Five: Memory**_

_You came for the humor, now stay for the … ANGST. (Wait, what?)_

By: N3k0

* * *

The twisty maze of passages and grates didn't trouble her at all. She'd grown up little more than a street rat, scrabbling to survive. Sometimes, when she'd stolen things as a youth, she would duck into the sewers to evade the guards. Not precisely _these_ sewers, perhaps, but really, they were all very similar. Rats, goblins, mudcrabs, slaughterfish ....

Twisty little passages that went nowhere and took some small flash of genius to unlock, pools of water whose only purpose was to house giant blades designed to mangle the unwary ....

In her past life, she'd tucked herself into such a world only out of necessity. She had feared it, and with good reason. Now, the dark held no terror. Now, even the many predators were nothing more than competition. This place brought back memories, but she could hold them at bay, at least for a while.

She rounded a corner, clinging to the darkness, the sword held at her side, lightly – out of the thin, filtered light, mustn't alert the goblin to her presence. Quite an infestation had sprung up down here.

_She rounded a corner, clinging to the darkness, holding the loaf of bread in her small, grubby hands – out of sight of any thieves who might steal from her. She was a small thing, and so fragile …_

Her sword plunged into the goblin's stomach, her hand over his mouth muffling his scream. His weapon and shield fell to the ground, noisily, but down here, the sound would not be noticed. She twisted the blade, then pulled it out, leaving the goblin to slump to the ground, shrill its agony, and die.

_His fangs plunged into the tiny Bosmer's throat, and she made barely a squeak of protest. The bread fell to the ground, unnoticed. The man dropped her, and she slumped to her knees, leaning against the wall, so tired … so tired. He walked off, and she could barely hear his boots. She was going to die._

She grunted with the effort, turning the heavy wheel and hoping it didn't snap under her persistent turning. Everything was worn, down here – even the metal seemed tired. There was a distant, echoing, creak, and a door slowly slid open. Wonderful.

_She grunted with the effort, sliding the heavy lid of the coffin off. She wasn't really sure how she'd managed to pick herself off the ground, what possessed her to follow the thing to his resting place. There was a heavy thud as the wooden slab hit the ground. She hadn't really thought this through …_

She looked down at the Amulet in her hand, unsure what to do with it, really. She couldn't put it around her neck – she'd tried that, and it didn't _work_; the chain obstinately slid off and away. Perhaps if she went back and drank some of the Emperor's blood, she could carry it that way for a time … no, the entire idea was abhorrent. She refused to slip the Amulet into her pouch of ill-gotten goods, but she had to figure out a more efficient way to proceed. She had a mission to accomplish, after all. If she could just figure this out.

_She looked down at the knife in her hand, unsure how to proceed. She could stab him in the heart – she'd heard that would work? Or did you have to cut the heart out completely? Did the weapon have to be out of wood? She was so tired, she didn't know if she could manage any of it on her own. The man was sleeping soundly, unaware that his leftovers had come back to haunt him. She'd give him an awful case of indigestion … if she could only figure out how._

Finally, she settled on a solution. She wrapped the chain around her wrist, and, to her surprise, when she fastened it together, it stayed. Whatever charms it had on it seemed designed to prevent someone wearing it the proper way, but she could handle it well enough. It tingled against her palm, and she squeezed it tightly, keeping it close. This way, she felt, she could better keep track of it. No bumbling pickpocket would stumble upon this treasure, and she only needed one hand for her sword.

_Finally, she settled on a solution: she would pierce his heart with a wooden stake. That was how it was done in stories, after all. A wooden stake, and the head removed from the neck. She didn't know where to get a wooden stake, exactly, but there was a broken table, and she figured a leg would do well enough. She had to hope removing his head from his shoulders wasn't actually required; she didn't have the strength. She shaved the tip into a point, with trembling fingers and her belt knife. It was sickeningly easy, holding the weapon in both hands – she hadn't thought it would work, didn't believe she possessed the strength. The thing's chest crunched as she pressed with all her weight. His eyes flew open; he woke long enough to see the face of the one who killed him. She felt like she was going to be ill._

She walked out, into the dim light of pre-dawn, and paused. She'd wasted so much time in the underground, trying to make good her escape. Now, instead of relishing her freedom, she had no choice but to wait out the day. She could endure some sunlight, for a short time … but attempting to travel so far, under the beating sun, would be suicide. With a groan, she trudged back in the tunnel she'd barely left. It would be shelter enough from the sun, and if she understood correctly, this was a secret exit; she wouldn't be disturbed. She locked the heavy grate behind her anyway, and waited for the night. Resting her head against the grimy wall, she let memory fully overtake her.

* * *

She woke up to the sound of light clapping, jerking awake all at once. Her neck throbbed – her whole body throbbed, and she could barely move. There was someone there, waiting for her to wake. With a groan, she opened her eyes, and fell backward, startled – she'd passed out at the side of the coffin, her fatigue catching up with her. What remained … ashes and clothing, and the faint, desiccated outline of bones.

She felt overwhelming fear, terror – the panic of a small animal captured in the gaze of a fierce predator. He was there, looking at her, standing beside her, and she felt so insignificant before him. His applause was quiet, the kind of congratulatory sound that was anything but.

"You sleep rather soundly. For a murderer." He sat on the edge of the coffin and looked down into it, before continuing. "I had assumed the death I had come to observe … " A long pause, he regarded her idly. "You look so fragile. So young. I had assumed that you would die tonight. I had almost believed you dead already … I was waiting for _him_ to wake, but who should interrupt my business, except the victim herself."

He knelt, slowly. Maybe he knew that sudden movements would startle her into flight.

Did she really think she could outrun him if she tried?

"You surprised me little one … but I suspect the Night Mother knew this would be the final result. She must have had her eye on you." He put his fingers under her chin, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. He tilted her head to the side, and she felt herself shaking. "Hm. This infection … And the wound that caused it. You will carry the disease in your veins, now, I think."

She shot him a look of horror. Disease? She'd be a … like the thing that attacked her? A vampire?

"Yes. Your life will likely end soon." He seemed to be watching her with his predator's gaze, gauging her reaction to that simple comment. He didn't care. His voice, his actions, said it all. She was nothing to him, except an unforeseen, unpredicted end to someone else's life. Someone's life that, he thought, had more value than her own, though that wasn't really saying much. What could he want with her? Was he just here to taunt her, before the end? "And it will begin anew. As I understand it, the pain of becoming a vampire often drives common people mad."

Her mind raced. She'd be a monster, a horrific thing from fairy stories. She'd be an ugly beast that stole children, feasted upon women, and killed good men.

But … the stories weren't true. The man wasn't fearsome, not really; he'd been almost pretty. Not so much anymore, but he had been. And the eyes, for the handful of seconds she'd gotten a look at them, had been hypnotic. They lost that in death, though … but then, he all but disintegrated in death.

"And so the wheels turn. I come to you with an offer."

Like what? He'd kill her before the disease could? Would that even work, or would it merely hasten the process?

She peered up at him, inspecting the hard, hawk-like features beneath that hood. His expression was unreadable, but then the only one she, herself, was good at reading was anger.

"You have here a unique opportunity. Not only has this fool bestowed upon you his curse – your blessing – but you killed, in cold blood, after his attack upon you was long finished. If you can repeat the gesture once, only once, you will find acceptance and a Family such as you have never known in your short life."

She said nothing. What was there to say?

"So, I have your rapt attention. Splendid. _Assuming_ you survive the curse you now bear, you will go to the Inn of Ill Omen. It lies on the Green Road, to the north of Bravil. There, you will find a man named Rufio. He is old, and sleeps his days away … you could kill him before he woke, if you so chose. However you choose to dispatch of him, once he is dead, your initiation into the Dark Brotherhood will be complete. Prove yourself worthy of the Night Mother, prove you can kill, not only in revenge, but in cold blood as well. Do this, and the next time you sleep in a location _I _deem secure, I will reveal myself once more, bearing the love of your new family."

The world was going black around the edges, she remembered feeling dizzy. She probably wouldn't have woken again, at all, if he hadn't chosen to reveal himself.

"Take this." He held out a weapon to her – hilt first, so she restrained herself from … doing … something. "It is a virgin blade, and thirsts for blood. May it serve you well … as does your silence."

* * *

The dream shifted then. She knew there were things she had done, between Lachance's visit and the third day … she could not remember them. She couldn't remember if she'd eaten anything, or how she'd come to be resting in a bed. She remembered thrashing, though. Her limbs twisting, contorting into inhuman shapes.

She remembered curling in on herself, a tiny, fetal ball, and she remembered screaming until her throat was hoarse, until no sound would escape her but a quiet mewling.

Mostly, she remembered pain. Pain … and the blood-soaked dreams. She remembered people lying in pieces, in her nightmares, her hands stained with their blood as she ripped them to pieces, limb from limb, heads falling free of bodies, and drinking from opened throats. She remembered the dreams best. The all-consuming hunger, the agony of her death ….

And the quiet, feminine voice that urged her to wake, return to the world of the living.

Her task was not yet complete.


	6. Chapter 6: A Father's Love

Author's Note: Whoo, long pause. Back now, though. Life happened, what can you do?

This one's longer than it was originally, but not by much. I'm actually going through and rewriting parts of it, adding and subtracting words – in short, editing something I wrote maybe a year or two ago.

Might as well get this out of the way here: I don't plan for Lyssi to fall in _teh loves _with anyone, certainly neither Vicente or Lucien. (It's a Dark Brotherhood fic, it's a female original character, I felt this needed to be said.) It might happen later on, but … well. She looks at Vicente as a Sire, or a father figure: someone she puts on a pedestal, but certainly not a romantic interest. And she looks at Lucien with a mix of fear and gratitude – fear because hey, he's damn scary, and gratitude because she wouldn't have her Family if he hadn't given her the invitation meant for someone else.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Elder Scrolls franchise. I would be much, much wealthier if I did.

* * *

**Nobody Important**

_**Chapter Six: A Father's Love**_

_Not that way, you sick, sick people._

By: N3k0

She woke as the sun set, and for a moment or two, she stared blankly at the far wall of the tunnel.

It had been so long since she had bothered to remember the entirety of the incident, though it was always there, in the back of her mind. Little flashes of it, a reminder of what she used to be – what she was, now.

The hunger hit bare moments after she woke, a gnawing thing that twisted her insides, forced her to her feet and out into the open. The night was still warm, a remnant from the heat of the day. She looked around at the water, and the Ayleid ruin across the way. There might be bandits in there to feed from, and the blood would speed her healing.

Or, there might be ghosts, skeletons, or worse - a group of vampires who'd see her as competition, and rip her apart more certainly than if she were just a living mortal.

What would Vicente do?

It was a stupid question of course; she wasn't him, and she didn't have his centuries of knowledge behind her. He wouldn't have gotten caught, and if he had, he would have slain the guards quickly and quietly, instead of coming along meekly like a small child. Assuming he had _let_ himself be caught, he would have planned his own escape, and been gone long before morning.

She needed his guidance. She looked up to him as she imagined she would to a father. He had taken her under his wing, taught her how to live with her condition after she had arrived, half-dead, at the Sanctuary.

She owed everything to him.

That was why, when she finally reached the road, she took it east to Cheydinhal, not west to Chorrol.

She thought about the Amulet, and the Emperor who'd given it to her. Again, she inspected it, the ruby jewel that called to her predatory nature, tempted her with the impossible.

A wash of guilt ran through her, and she felt, with her free hand, the wound on her collarbone, still healing. It would leave a thin scar, but she didn't bother to heal it. The blood would restore her soon anyway, and even if it didn't, some stray part of her thought that she deserved more than just some simple scarring.

She cast a simple spell over the thing, to make it invisible. Naturally, it didn't stick.

She knew what she really probably should do. What she'd sworn to do. She had to get this thing to Jauffre; he'd take care of it for her, apparently. But ... she wanted to ask anyway. It felt better to her, to follow Vicente's advice, to heed her Sire's commands. It had even been distressing to her when she was promoted. When she'd been told to obey Ocheeva, instead. She liked the Argonian, but ... he had told her to do as Ocheeva instructed as though she were him, so she did. It felt different, though. Not that the contracts were any easier, or the people she killed were any less dead. Maybe it was just that, under Ocheeva, she found herself doing it for cash, for magical trinkets, more than anything.

It just wasn't the same.

* * *

Lyssi made her way uneventfully to her destination, ducking her head habitually, letting the thin, blue-black braids fall into her face to help obscure her visage when she passed a patrolling guard. She looked enough like a normal Bosmer at the moment, if a little worn. Really, anyone with reason to travel the road so late at night probably also had a reason to be haggard. She decided not to take chances, especially with her recent jailbreak.

She wished for the dark, concealing hood she wore while she worked. It, like the matching shrouded armor, was stuffed in a small trunk she'd claimed for her own, in the Sanctuary. She felt fortunate that no one really looked her way, with her face so exposed. Before long, she arrived.

The city guards looked askance at her – a little thing, traveling alone, of course they found it odd. She thought maybe the taller one had been working the night she'd left for the Imperial City. Had he just not expected her to return? The littler one looked like he was falling asleep at his post. He probably wasn't used to working the night shift. The taller one, though, he walked up to her, acting imposing … what was she supposed to do? She reached up, her hand darting out, and brushed his cheek with her fingertips. The man blinked, owlishly, and for a moment his eyes seemed … reflective. Unseeing.

He shook his head, and motioned her inside the gate.

Her feet fell unerringly, taking her past the church – a massive, stony monument to the implacable will of the Nine Divines, and an occasional feeding ground – to the boarded-over, locked door of an abandoned building. No one would be looking her way; the guards made it a point to ignore the abandoned house, and many of the townsfolk did the same. She flicked open the front door's lock, the work of mere seconds, then padded down the stairs to the basement, pausing at a bloodied picture.

Its haunting words gave her only a slight chill now. "What is the color of night?"

Lyssi took only a moment to eye the mural. A brilliant white hand, a skull. A woman, and three dancing skeletons, with a dominant color of red. If anyone had been here who shouldn't, she wondered if they would have any trouble at all discerning what this place was. "Sanguine, my brother." The mural slowly creaked open, and quietly welcomed her home.

She walked inside. The Argonian woman wasted little time in approaching her.

"Sister, I have a matter of some urgency for you. I received this note from Lucien Lachance." When Lyssi went just that little bit paler at the mention of the Speaker who ruled their Sanctuary, Ocheeva nodded slightly. "It is gravely urgent. You must read this as soon as you are able, and obey whatever is written."

Lyssi opened her mouth to speak, then decided against it, and simply nodded. Surely the letter wasn't for her? But, looking down at the envelope the Argonian had pressed into her hands, her name was written clearly. So, instead of wondering if the parcel was in fact for her, she merely wondered if Lachance had lost his mind. She was unworthy of such an honor. Looking back up at the woman's inscrutable face – lizards weren't really _known_ for their expressions, though – she nodded, once.

She secreted the letter away in her pouch of ill-gotten loot and padded to the room she sometimes shared with her Sire. She had, quite a while ago, all but begged Vicente to let her place her bedroll on the ground next to the stone slab he called his own. He seemed surprised - even flattered - but agreed readily enough.

He was reading, as usual, so she paused in the doorway to watch him. She smiled softly, seeing his catlike face, the frown just slightly apparent. He disagreed with whatever was written in his book. She could tell by the furrow in his brow, the way he shook his head slightly as he flipped the page to the next. He didn't like it, but he would still read it to the bitter end.

She really supposed she should be scared. He was very clearly Vampire, old and powerful, his face showing his inhumanity quite clearly. But then, she had - according to Antoinetta - the '_biggest_ crush' for him. She thought the whole idea was silly. Of course she loved the man she chose to call her Sire. She didn't have romantic feelings for anyone, though, much less for him.

"Ah ... my Daughter. What is it that brings you to me?" He smiled, kindly, up at her. When she held the Amulet out for him to see, the golden chain still wrapped around her wrist, his expression … changed. "The Amulet of Kings! How did you come to possess such a thing?" There was awe in his voice.

It took her a second to respond. She rarely spoke. "The Emperor. He's dead."

"Surely _you_ didn't ..."

She shook her head.

"Red robes, conjured armor. Couldn't stop them." She pulled her shirt to the side to show the pink, barely-healed scar where she'd been skewered through the shoulder.

"And his guards just let you take that?" He eyed it with the same hunger she herself felt. It pulsed with life, with energy. That was what drew both of them. That was what they fed on, after all. "It _is_ integral to the safety to the Empire."

She tilted her head to the side. She'd known it was important, but ... Integral to the Empire? That seemed excessive.

"It is something few are even able to comprehend. The true Emperor uses that amulet to light the Dragonfires and preserve the barrier between worlds." She continued to eye him expectantly. "Truly. You've heard of Daedra? Demons? That necklace keeps them from swarming this world."

Lyssi nodded, still not quite understanding how lighting up some bonfires kept the whole world safe. She decided it was better not to ask. She thought perhaps he guessed she didn't quite get it, because he sighed.

"Ah well. One day, you will understand. You've had a long trek. If you need, you may sleep out the day here." He smiled, patted her on her still-bare shoulder. She pulled the thin black cloth back up over her scar, and nodded, relieved.

* * *

Her dreams remained unpleasant.

In her mind, she stood once more before the Emperor, her eyes caught by the multifaceted ruby, by the awful brilliance of the thing. She couldn't touch it, could never wield the power held within, but she could crave it, nearly taste the dragon's blood.

She could see the life behind his, the other human. She pulled the Emperor away. A flash of pain - the conjured sword pierced her shoulder. The thump of his boot to her stomach, the crack of her head against stone. Then he advanced.

She felt something new, then. Where before she'd sat helpless, now, somehow, she felt herself backed into the wall, felt each jarring slice as her flesh was rent asunder, as she herself was chopped to pieces. Blood, everywhere, blood. A sea of it, and her to blame. The Emperor's death was violent, perhaps more so than necessary, and that too was her doing. And then ....

She saw him rise, the pieces of his body held together by thin strings of blood. He opened his mouth, fangs - to her it looked like every tooth was a fang, and bit down on his attacker, draining the man to a withered husk, the tortured, jarring cries chasing her from sleep.

* * *

Lyssi woke, screaming wordlessly. Vicente was there in seconds, arms wrapped around her. She buried her head in his shoulder, sobbing. He petted her hair, calming, reassuring.

In reality, the Emperor hadn't risen from the dead. She knew that. He had already died before the disease in her veins could have saved him. She couldn't stop herself from drinking the cultist dry. Should she have? Would it have been any better?

Didn't he deserve worse?

"Shh ... sh." Her Sire smiled down at her, and she slowly stopped shaking. "Your mind needs to adapt, my Daughter. That is why every day you're plagued with these dreams."

She looked up at him, nodded softly. It made a certain sense. She was becoming something _else_, something entirely alien to her nature. She'd been prey – now she was predator. Eating had been simply a matter of picking an inn to rob, or a waste bin to dig through. Now she had to be so much more careful. They couldn't be diseased, or she might do serious harm. Worse, she could spread whatever illness they had, as well as her own curse. She shouldn't feed off the same person two nights in a row, because they'd already lost so much the first night. She had to take just enough to sate her hunger, but never too much ....

Maybe it wasn't any wonder at all that she was having nightmares about her victims, about that dark part of her that regarded everyone who was human, or a close facsimile thereof, as prey, and anything vampiric as competition.

It was strange, the way this caused nightmares, but her murderous profession did not. Then again, how would she know the difference? She hadn't killed anyone before she'd become a vampire, and she hadn't been a vampire before her first kill. Maybe the two were intertwined.

She pulled away from Vicente after a moment, glanced at her pack. The amulet seemed to glow brighter to her. More tempting, even though she had no way of using the thing. Vicente caught the direction she was looking, gently guided her to look back at him with only the thumb and forefinger of one hand. "My Daughter, the Emperor surely instructed you to accomplish something with his Amulet." Lyssi nodded solemnly. "I think this takes precedence over whatever contracts you have undertaken."

"But ..." He put a finger to her lips, shook his head.

"No. Even assassins can be loyal to the Empire. If the world fell to demonic rule, after all, how would we get payment? We are only human. Or nearly so." He smiled, patted her on the head when understanding dawned. "Go on. It's night out - the sun cannot harm you."


	7. Chapter 7: Family

Author's Note: And … this one's a lot shorter than the other chapters, because it was originally part of the previous chapter, and I felt like I should cut it in half.

Woah, has it been nearly a whole year since I updated this? Sorry 'bout that! I got distracted by Fable, and actually _playing_ Oblivion, and SCHOOL OMG.

I like this part. I get to show off _why_ a scaredy-cat like Lyssi stays with the Brotherhood. She's grown rather tough, between being a _monstrous beastie_ and a murderess, but at her core, she's still easily shaken. Like most new Brothers and Sisters, she came because she was curious, and stayed because they treated her like Family.

Also, I know about the Green Pact. Lyssi, on the other hand, doesn't, so much.

This is a Disclaimer: I do not own Oblivion, or anything you might recognize from the game.

* * *

**Nobody Important**

_**Chapter Seven: Family**_

_In which dialogue ensues._

By: N3k0

Her first priority was to find her spare things. The gear she kept for herself was a reminder of who she was, what she was – as if she needed yet another – but it was protection, from prying eyes and wounds alike. She knelt next to a box, flicked the latch open. She preferred to pick the lock, mostly to keep in practice; it was the most intricate contraption money could buy, and included a disfiguring, gruesome, poisonous trap, just in case.

Also, her key was with the rest of her gear, stored in an evidence chest in the Imperial City.

She found the spare set of Dark Brotherhood leather where she'd left it, folded neatly in the bottom of her chest. More, though; she found her feather-light, enchanted backpack here. It startled her; she took it from the chest, inspected it warily. When she opened it, she found it to be exactly as she remembered - the gold in it obscuring nearly everything else, a quill and some paper strapped to the side and unlikely to encounter damage - fishing through it she even found her copy of _The Five Tenets._ Handwritten notes were left folded in the side pockets, exactly where she'd left them. Beside her bag, there were the four paper-thin hidden knives she always kept strapped to her arms and legs, the glittering silver pendant - also a sheathed blade - she wore between her breasts, and the hidden knife that strapped around her waist to rest at the small of her back.

She even found the obvious, but comfortable, belt-dagger she favored, and the vials of poisons, potions, and ink. Her mortar and pestle were there ...

In short, every last thing that had ever been truly hers had been returned to her.

She didn't care what had happened to the stolen goods she'd been carrying – this alone floored her.

She carefully placed the weapons, making sure not to injure herself further. Her arm protested every time she moved it too sharply, and it was throbbing by the time she was done. She set the Amulet in the top of her bag, resting it atop her stash of gold.

"Foul smelling ape ..."

The Khajiit's voice, the contempt he didn't even bother to hide, rang clearly behind her.

"The Tenets keep me from killing you - be glad of that. Had your _things_ been checked by the guards, _you_ would have been responsible for betraying _all_ our secrets! I was sent to retrieve your gear, to protect the Brotherhood." Lyssi winced. He was approaching a rant. "You - I do not know what Lachance sees in you, but if you _ever_ fail so spectacularly again, I - hey!" He seemed to notice that she had taken her things and was walking away from him. He didn't bother to follow her, and she was glad for that.

She already knew how badly she'd failed.

Instead of immediately leaving the Sanctuary, though, she went to the living quarters, deciding to try a meal. She'd been able to stomach most of her own potions, and they were often made out of food. She should be able to handle the real thing, shouldn't she?

She kept her bottle of blood with her, even though it was tainted.

She listened to the orc, Gogron gro-Bolmog, boasting about his latest contract. She was a shadow - he was the opposite, preferring to bash people in the face with that axe of his.

It took different sorts, she guessed. He probably didn't get many bonuses, unless the contract involved killing everything in sight.

She eyed the orange on the table before her. She really had liked the flavor before she'd been turned, before she accepted the dark gift for what it was, regardless of its source. She wondered where orange trees even grew. Deciding that to be one of the great mysteries of her time, she pressed the orange to her teeth, piercing its skin and drinking the juice. The orc didn't even look sideways at her. She thought perhaps he figured people were people, regardless of how 'different' they might be.

Or maybe he just regarded everyone who wasn't Family as target practice.

On the other hand, Antoinetta Marie, who Lyssi guessed to be a Nord – or maybe an Imperial? - peered at her curiously. "Doesn't it taste any different or ...?" Lyssi didn't think so anyway. She wasn't sure. She'd only eaten blood, since she'd turned, and she'd had a year to grow fond of the flavor. After a moment or two, she shrugged. The woman was good enough at reading her - most of the Family was, since she didn't vocalize often. Taking the shrug as a negative, Antoinetta continued: "If it doesn't taste any different, then why doesn't Vicente like my cooking? You seem to know him better than anyone else.... "

Lyssi pulled the orange away from her mouth. Unlike the rare humans she'd killed that way, the fruit brought her no flash of remorse to see it shriveled and unrecognizable for the perfect sphere it had just been. "Garlic."

Antoinetta considered that. Lyssi watched her mull that thought over. "But it's _so_ delicious! Are you sure?" Lyssi herself had been partial to the food, but her Sire was severely allergic. She nodded.

Talaendril sat down at the table next to the Orc. "Well _hello._ Our little sister eats, does she?" At Lyssi's quiet nod, the other Bosmer laughed. That was Talaendril - light hearted, quick to laughter, and piling her plate high with meat. It wasn't any wonder she and the Orc got along so well. Lyssi had seen the pair once or twice, late at night in the training room, so she _knew_ Gogron wasn't just boasting when he said that he and Talaendril were _that_ close. It didn't really bother her, but it was ... unique. She herself couldn't think of too many other such pairings. "I was getting worried about you! All skin and bones and teeth, you are."

Lyssi herself smiled nervously at that. It was no secret here, what she was, but she still wasn't sure how most people would respond to her 'condition.' Her Family was safe, but she'd taken to making sure her eyes were still green, and they stayed that way as long as she fed.

"Relax sister." Talaendril smiled. It was supposed to be reassuring, anyway. "What's your next contract, anyway?" Lyssi shrugged, shook her head. "You haven't taken one yet?" A nod. "You have?" She shook her head again. "Yes, you haven't decided to undertake any contracts yet?" Lyssi nodded again.

"That's unusual, for you, anyway." Lyssi felt like a doll whose head wasn't quite attached right, bobbing her head up and down like she was. "Next thing you know, you'll start _talking_ and doing immodest things to our pet Khajiit!" Lyssi blushed, shook her head emphatically. She didn't even like the cat. Her reaction caused laughter all around.

Antoinetta Marie peered closely at Lyssi, finally asking, "So what do you plan on doing if you're not taking up any more work yet?" She considered the question, looked around the table. They were all friends. She rummaged through her pack to produce the Amulet. "By Sithis! That isn't - How did you ...?"

"The Emperor is dead."

"Dead?" This from the other Bosmer.

"Surely not! You didn't ...?" Lyssi shook her head firmly. "Then who did?" The Nord looked scared, just a little. Who could kill someone like the Emperor? Who _would?_

"Red-robes and conjured armor. They say, 'The Dawn is Breaking!'" Lyssi rubbed her right shoulder. That cry, and the blade that followed it, had very nearly cost Lyssi dearly. She was lucky she hadn't managed to throw her heart in the path of the blade instead.

"Wow. No name, huh?" Lyssi shook her head, and Talaendril patted her on the shoulder. "You'll find out, just so you don't have to describe them. That was almost a speech from you!"

The focus of the conversation finally left Lyssi, which she was glad for. She returned the Amulet of Kings to its place in her bag, waving her hand over it. She honestly doubted that anyone who found _her_ would be all that fooled by a simple invisibility spell, but it was at least some protection.

"So, did you hear? The new recruit, what's his name - " Talaendril paused, considering.

A voice piped up from behind them, the hissing sound clearly belonging to an Argonian. "He calls himself Eshk." The voice belonged to Teinaava, who was late to the meal only because of the book he had tucked under one arm. It was amazing to Lyssi, how well-read the Family was. She'd always assumed murderers wouldn't care for things like that. She herself had barely learned well enough to read simple notes.

What was this about a new recruit, though? She looked around, questioningly, but everyone's eyes had turned to Teinaava, then back to Talaendril.

"Eshk, then," the other Bosmer continued. "Apparently, someone got to his kill before he could." A laugh. "Unlucky, don't you think? I heard he spent five hours just waiting for his mark to turn up."

"Feh. All of you lot, mark my words. Things like that don't happen when you just storm the place." Gogron never was much for the subtle approach.

"Guards," Lyssi offered.

The Orc seemed surprised she'd commented. "Legionnaires die same as anyone, it just takes a few more whacks to get through all that armor they wear."

"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you Gogron?" Antoinetta laughed, waving her fork at him like a scolding mother, before stuffing the chunk of meat speared on it into her mouth. "Mphsh noh lih youf haven't killed plenty of them before. What's your bounty at, now? A few thousand?"

Ocheeva's quiet voice sounded from the doorway. It seemed the whole Family was intent on gathering together … but then, the sound of merriment often drew others. Lyssi couldn't believe how much she'd missed, in her childhood. "You should really learn to swallow your food, before you speak." With that, she made her selection – the remaining half of Teinaava's steak – speared it on a knife, and, as if to demonstrate her point, swallowed the thing whole. Argonians, Lyssi thought, could be as scary as Orcs.

Then again, everything could be at least a little scary.

"Ocheeva … !" Her egg-mate protested. "That was mine."

"You should have guarded it better then." A quiet voice observed from behind all of them, and Lyssi's heart leaped to her throat to hear it. Her Sire didn't normally take sustenance in the company of others – he didn't particularly care for watching them eat when he, himself, did not need to. He set a bottle in front of her, and she took it, gratefully, knowing that the dark, tinted glass contained fresh, untainted blood. He, himself, carried another just like it.

He was so thoughtful.

Lyssi hadn't thought Argonians could pout. Their faces were rather limited in their expressions. Teinaava, however, put on a good show of it, relying on body language to convey much of what his face could not. Then, recovering quickly, he reached for something else to eat.

The night continued like that, a warm, comfortable environment. Even Mraaj-Dar put in an appearance and managed to remain more or less civil, offering jokes and insight of his own.

She politely ignored him when he made cracks at her, and Talaendril lightly smacked the back of his head when he insulted Bosmer in general. He made a mocking bite at her hand, but she was far too quick for him, and flicked his nose. This resulted in an angered growl, before Vicente cleared his throat and took a long drink from his bottle, staring at them both pointedly.

A reminder that he wouldn't stand for infighting, she guessed … and of course, a reminder of what he was.

This was what it meant to be Family.

She couldn't believe she'd missed so much of this, during her short, hard life. Now that she had it, nothing would make her give it up.

Nothing.

She left the Sanctuary after the meal. Her family had contracts they had to attend to, and she had another long journey ahead of her.


	8. Chapter 8: Wandering Healer

Author's Note: So, the Gray Fox sighting was actually entirely unplanned, just something I wrote up on a whim. It always bothered me that "the Gray Fox watches over the beggars" and never once comments on you _snacking on them._

OMNOMNOMNOM.

Disclaimer: Please, tell the lawyers to stop calling. I already told them I didn't do it.

I mean, uh. Do not own Oblivion, except for a single copy of it which I keep under my pillow, when it isn't burning a hole in my DVD Drive.

* * *

**Nobody Important**

_**Chapter Eight: Wandering Healer**_

_In which Lyssi finds time to level her Restoration skill._

By: N3k0

Lyssi left the abandoned building the way she'd come in. She knew, of course, that she should probably avoid becoming predictable, avoid following a pattern, but just once wasn't anything terrible.

She still wore the light leather from her escape, though she'd wisely rid herself of the wrist shackles. As much as she wanted to wear her Void-black armor, she knew that would draw more attention to her than simply remaining a nondescript Bosmer who may or may not live in Cheydinhal.

One of the guards threw her a dirty look, and another mentioned something about her being a shifty sort. She looked up at them with guileless green eyes, and they seemed surprised she'd heard them.

That was what the enormous pointy ears were for, wasn't it?

One of them muttered an apology, the other glared in a nonspecific direction and said nothing. Either way, they let her pass, the massive gate swinging open before her. It was a long trip, straight west on the road, but she could probably make it in at least two days. That meant … she'd be four days out, probably at least two later than the Blades expected her to have gone to Chorrol.

Baurus, she thought his name was – he'd probably be kicking himself for trusting a monster like her. Poor guy. She couldn't help it though. She wasn't able to travel during the day, and she _had_ to visit the Sanctuary first.

As she saw the magnificent White-Gold Tower – the high walls, the protected Imperial City – creeping over the horizon, she felt the first tearing pain of hunger. It looked like she'd be spending the rest of the night in the City. She hoped the guards wouldn't recognize her as the escapee, but she'd probably have to step lightly either way. She was only going to be in and out in a short while – that was what she thought. She'd just find a bum, they slept outside and would be easy marks.

Slipping into the city, she entered the Market District, keeping her head low. Maybe it was actually her intent to avoid attention that drew it on the empty street – there was a gloved hand on her arm, and she was turned around, bodily. She looked up with wide, innocent eyes, catching his easily. "... Something wrong?"

She knew she had him when he blinked, owlishly, confused. He let her go, shaking his head. "Sorry, miss. No, nothing's wrong. I thought … for a moment … nevermind."

That was one of the benefits of vampirism. There were so few.

And she'd just come to one of the drawbacks: behind the weapon store, A Fighting Chance, she found the sleeping, old woman. She could smell the poisoned blood, knew disease ran in the woman's veins. She could feast, risk spreading the illness, even though she couldn't catch it, or …

She held one hand over the beggar's sleeping form. It was a matter of moments, and a few, softly spoken words, and the woman was purged of illness. She knelt, gently lifting the her prey from her bedroll, and sank her fangs gently into the pale, slender neck. Careful – mustn't take too much, especially in someone as old and malnourished as the beggar. Her task complete, the warmth of life spreading through her veins, she forced herself to let go, to take not even another sip, since that one would just lead into another, and another.

She cast one, final spell, making sure no trace of her curse had spread to the woman, and healing the damage she'd done. The beggar would wake none the wiser. Maybe she'd be a little tired, but she'd be alive.

Standing, Lyssi made to leave – there was a figure between her and the only reasonable escape route. She hadn't felt his eyes upon her, but they were there now, along with the rest of him. He was a large, imposing sort of man, at least to her eyes, and he wore a gray, leather mask over his features. Something about him seemed _wrong_ … she didn't know how to describe it, other than a sense of powerful magic in the air.

"You did a good thing, with your magic." His voice was quiet, and … indistinct, somehow. She couldn't tell, really, if it were deep and masculine, or higher, feminine. She couldn't tell if it were young or old, healthy or rasping. It seemed to be ever-shifting, to her ears, and her memory could only hold on to his actual words, not their sound. "Healing that woman. Such a simple matter, but one even the priests of the Nine would not take up."

"Know this: My name is the Gray Fox, little one. I watch over these beggars … as once, I watched over you." He'd been a legend, a myth, certainly not a flesh and blood person, and he certainly had not been watching over her when she'd been turned into the _thing_ she now was. "You may feed here, if you must – but should a single beggar die in this manner, I will hold you _personally_ responsible."

She shuddered slightly, taking a step back. Her heel bumped into the woman's side, and the beggar stirred. She looked down, to make sure the woman hadn't woken up, and when she looked up again, the Gray Fox was gone. There was a nondescript man walking by, and she considered asking him if he'd seen the legendary thief. She decided not to, though. He'd probably look at her like she was crazy, then tell her, in small words, that the Gray Fox did not exist. Everyone knew that.

Except now, she didn't.

That morning, as she slept in the Merchant's Inn, a series of fragmented nightmares claimed her. She only clearly remembered one of them - it was the one that shook her awake.

* * *

The sun was shining, and at first it was just a light breeze tickling her face. She reached to rub her nose, only to find that her arms were held rigidly at her sides, and her whole body was covered in … or made from … a fine, green glass.

She was standing on the edge of a high cliff, her toes just over the edge. The wind began to buffet her, harshly, demanding she move, take even one step. And then the ground beneath her feet began to crumble away.

As she fell, she felt tiny shards of herself break away, shatter, glass in the wind, until she was little more than a fine, green powder, her ashes spread all across Tamriel.

* * *

She jerked violently, eyes opening wide. She had only a second to comprehend two very important facts - she was now awake, and something had awakened her - before she was rolling sideways out of bed. Her timing was impeccable; the pillow she'd been sleeping on had quite abruptly become two separate half-pillows. She lunged for the red-robed Dawn-worshiper, using the only weapon readily at her disposal - her fangs.

The woman slashed her stomach, a cut that threatened to expose Lyssi's entrails, if it had been any deeper. She hadn't thought she'd need to sleep in full armor! The Bosmer recoiled for only a moment, to hiss and clutch her stomach with one hand. She held her left hand out, chanting quickly and hoping the lyrical intonation was completely correct. A fireball began to build against her palm, making her shudder. She hated fire - any fire made her terribly edgy - but it was remarkably effective against humans and the like, as well as her vampiric brethren. The woman screamed when the fireball hit her and blackened her skin.

Of course, like many insane fanatics, what she chose to scream made very little sense: "My soul goes to PARADISE!"

And then her body at least became little more than a pile of charred flesh on the ground at Lyssi's feet. The vampire muttered a quiet healing incantation, feeling the cut become just a little more shallow, the likelihood diminishing that she would yet get to see just how long her own intestines could be.

After the crazy cultist decided to be far too dead to do much but leave Lyssi alone, the girl grabbed her pack, and the long katana she had 'found' when one of the Emperor's guards died. It was stupid of her to forget the thing when she was in need.

It was evening again when she finally set out – hours after the attack – and she found her trip to Weynon Priory to be entirely uneventful, even boring. Almost, anyway.

A large, gray wolf approached. He looked young, inexperienced. He should still be with his pack, not roaming alone like he was. A nasty cut over his left eye still oozed blood. Lyssi held one hand under the beast's nose, making soothing noises so that it would understand she meant no harm. In return, he hesitantly, butted his head against her leg. She held her hand an inch or two away from the maimed eye, calling on the same healing magic that made her own stomach wound more bearable.

The wolf's eye became rapidly good as new, though Lyssi felt her belly twinge as though someone had filled the cut with molten silver. She really needed to bandage the injury properly or at least finish healing it. She smiled at the wolf, patting him on the head. He licked her injury a couple of times and whined softly. She shook her head, shooing him.

A mounted guard behind her had noticed the spectacle, and, over the sound of the horse's hooves clattering, she heard him mumbling something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "Tree-hugger" before continuing his patrol. He seemed to decide that it wasn't worth the effort to stalk and kill the beast, which quickly vanished into the wood.

It was, however, worth the effort to strike up a conversation with her.

Apparently.

"You goin' to Chorrol?" She was on the main road to it - she hadn't the faintest idea where else she would be going if she hadn't been headed for Chorrol. Lyssi nodded. "Not much there fer a wily adventuring type like yourself. They've got lots of sheep, and lots of cheese." Lyssi shrugged. Not that she particularly minded either sheep or cheese. She wondered if the guardsman would be any less friendly if he knew her profession.

Or her nature.

"You don't talk much, do ya, missy?" He looked down at her - not a particularly difficult feat. She was short, as elves went, and he sat atop a horse. She shrugged. He gave a rather awkward-sounding chuckle. She was used to it.

"Jauffre?" She directed the question at the guard.

He seemed to take a second to understand what she meant. "No, that ain't my name. I do know of 'im though. Runs a little place called Weynon Priory, just up the road there. Nice enough fellow, 'e is." Another pause. "You lookin' to speak with him, then? It's awful late for a visit, like, ya know?" At Lyssi's nod, he shrugged, looking uncomfortable.

"I mean, its yer business, but if he ain't awake, it just ain't proper, and ... " He sighed. "So ye're goin' no matter what I say, aren't ya?" At Lyssi's nod, he took his helmet off to scratch the back of his head. "What's yer name at leas'?"

She could give him that, at least. "Lyssi."

He was waiting for something further, but she wasn't particularly interested in offering more than that. "So ... I'm Joe. How're you? You want I just go away? Leave ya to yer ... walkin' quietly thing?"

Lyssi shrugged again. She didn't have any real preference either way.

"Right ... I'll ... do that, then." He urged his horse to go that little bit faster, so he could distance himself from his traveling companion of all of three minutes.

It was a strange thing, to be feared.

* * *

((Author's note:

And now it's time for something I figured would be a bit of fun. Let's read some of the notes from Lyssi's backpack!

That'll end well. ))

_Princess:_

_You're one of my **favorite** mortals, did I ever tell you that? You're so **interesting,** and you do things even though your little brain's all knotted up with fear. I'd been meaning to give you this **fun toy,** along with the pile of vanishing gold. Did you spend it all yet?_

_Have some fun with it! Smack a guard, that'll be **exciting.** Won't it, Haskill?_

_Love,_

_ Sheogorath_

_ Lord of Flaming Dogs_

_P.S. Thanks again for all the laughs at Border Watch! I knew an assassin had the sneaks for something like that. Haskill bet you'd end up as cat food. Or was it rat food? Haskill, was it rat food?_

_Cat food, my Lord.  
_


	9. Chapter 9: Weynon Priory

Author's Note: Hm.

Can we say "Poor Communication Kills" three times fast?

We can? Good.

I bet you lot were thinking it'd be another year before you'd hear from me again. This'n's a bit short, but as a plus, the next one should be sooner, since it's done and all. This part was a bit annoying to write, but not near as hard as the one that comes pretty much immediately after.

Read and review makes for a happy author with happy updates, happily.

Disclaimer: Yep. I own everything. I even own you. Also, if you'll buy that, I own some property in the Shivering Isles for sale. It's lovely, this time of year.

* * *

**Nobody Important**

_**Chapter Nine: Weynon Priory**_

_Where not all is as it seems._

By: N3k0

Weynon Priory was a quiet place, full of quiet monks, who all slept quite quietly. Not a one of them were even snoring. Lyssi hadn't found the lock to be much trouble at all. If this was where the Grandmaster of the Blades lived, she suspected he trusted that his position was secret, rather than secure.

Was it _really_ safe to leave such a precious bauble here alone?

Was it any safer to keep the trinket on her person? She herself _had_ to sleep almost half of her existence away, or at _least_ find shelter indoors, and on at one memorable occasion, shelter indoors had been almost no shelter at all - not from the sun, nor from the creatures who inhabited the place.

She stood silently in the loft where the monks slept, making no noise. Being a dead thing, she didn't even need to breathe to give herself away. Which one of the silent forms was Jauffre, she wondered?

"Hello, miss." The voice was jovial, though hushed, so as not to wake his fellows. Lyssi very nearly jumped out of her skin. Instead, she held very still, turning slowly. "May I ask what it is you do here?" He was pleasantly tempered, balding, and barely an inch taller than she was. She gradually relaxed. Prey, not predator.

"Jauffre?" She also kept her voice quiet.

"Yes, that is my name. Ah ... who are you, then?" He motioned her toward the stairs, back to the main floor. She went along, deciding it was better not to fight it.

She didn't respond, immediately. Did _everyone_ need to know what to call her? She doubted she'd ever see this man again. "... All right ... What is it you do here?" She sighed. She had to convey the Emperor's message. Surely that was all that was required of her.

Surely.

She turned to face Jauffre, tugging her pack off her shoulders, the strap pulling at the thin black shirt she wore. The scar on her collarbone showed pure white - her skin still had some color to it. She grunted, softly - the unhealed wound on her stomach nearly caused her to double in pain.

"You are injured, Bosmer? Did you come seeking healing? There are many fine chapels and the ilk. If that is the only reason you have come .... " Her eyes flashed, annoyance causing her to lose her grip for a second. The pack thumped to the floor, and his gasp told her that her eyes were showing crimson. His expression darkened immediately. "I think it best if you leave, creature. We have no love of your kind here." He actually almost looked to be reaching for a holy symbol. Or a weapon. In those robes, who knew? Lyssi knelt, feeling blood oozing from the cut, dripping onto the ground. She rummaged in her pack, fingers catching the chain to the Amulet of Kings, the Amulet following.

Jauffre gasped. "The Amulet of Kings! How did one such as you come to possess something like that?"

"The Emperor is dead." Lyssi pushed the thing into Jauffre's hands, wrapping his fingers around it. She just wanted to be _done_ with this errand she'd been sent on. "Sons, too."

"Explain yourself." A pause, murder in his expression. "Now." Did _everyone_ believe she was the killer, then? She didn't _do_ it.

"Baurus said, give you this." An entire sentence. Her Family would be proud. "I did." She shrugged.

"He did, did he? And how do I know you didn't kill him, too?" He was angry. Usually, Jauffre was probably quite rational about such things, Lyssi was certain. He was a monk, and they were all very level-headed, or so she had heard. She hadn't had much to do with monks, before _or_ after her turning.

"Would I be here?"

"You've got a point." He sighed heavily. "The Emperor's death has set us all on edge. I apologize. Baurus sent word, told me to expect a 'strange' messenger, two days ago. He said that you would inform me further on the situation. When you did not arrive then, I had assumed all was lost. I had not been expecting something like you to deliver something like that." He shook his head.

Lyssi would have taken offense, but Jauffre was correct. Finally, she decided to ask a question of her own. "Us?"

"The Blades, girl. The Emperor's personal guard. Surely you've heard of us, being the Emperor's own messenger in our time of need?" Lyssi shrugged noncommittally. That was what all the armored knights had been yelling about?

Emperor's own messenger - she had almost forgotten. "His last son lives, he said. Where?"

"Yes, he does. I had wondered if you would bring that up – if you knew. Martin lives now as a simple priest, among quiet farming folk. He believes that he, himself, is the child of farmers. You needn't worry about him." Oh, good. She'd almost just started to. "Tonight, I send my strongest Blades, on the fastest horses, to retrieve him."

Well, if she was being dismissed … she pulled the sword she'd been carrying off her back. It seemed everyone in the Empire was armed - no one had thought to comment on a small elf carrying a large katana. Even her Sire probably hadn't given it much thought - he knew she favored bladed weapons.

"Renault." She held it out with both hands for him.

"Ah ... yes. So, she is dead?" Lyssi nodded, softly. "She was a good woman. She will be missed terribly." A shrug. Lyssi hadn't thought much of the woman at the time, but, then, she'd been just a prisoner to the guards. None of them had likely thought much of her, either.

"Yes, well." He eyed her up and down, noted what little color she had was rapidly draining from her skin. "Even given your nature, girl, that wound is _severe._ Look at me, chatting away while you bleed all over my floor." Lyssi shrugged, uncomfortable. The injury didn't really bother her too much. She just felt ... hungrier, for it. Like, if she ate more, maybe the injury would go away, along with all the other nicks, scrapes, and bruises she'd acquired.

"... Be careful, cleaning." She looked down at the small puddle of blood that had accumulated under her, almost ashamed. It was dangerous stuff. Every drop contained the disease carried in her veins. The Blade certainly didn't want to be like her, if he could barely stand her presence. She began to walk toward the door. Trying to clean it herself would just make a more spectacular mess.

"Hold." His voice took on the edge of someone used to having his orders followed, so she obeyed. "I may have been ... somewhat rude, when you first arrived. You _cannot_ travel in your condition. Assuming you even make it to town, which I doubt, given the hour, you still need healing. Or do you plan to end your existence this morning, then?" She cringed, visibly. "Come. Let us get you bandaged up. You may sleep here for the day. Welcome to Weynon Priory."

* * *

Jauffre was a surprisingly efficient nurse, bandaging her midsection with the aid of thin, leather gloves, while she held the bottom of her shirt away from the wound. The things black cloth could cover … the shirt had pulled at her wound, and on closer inspection, it was thoroughly bloodstained.

She was glad he wore the gloves. She would be no kind of Sire to anyone.

"You value silence, don't you, girl? I still don't even know your name." Everyone she'd yet encountered seemed to be interested in making small talk. Perhaps she needed to develop the skill. She sighed. "A name isn't so much to ask, is it?"

"Lyssi." He nodded.

"See, that wasn't hard. How did you come by an injury like this, mm?" Lyssi closed her eyes. How much did she have to tell him? He was probably looking for a report the likes of which his Blades usually delivered. She should be thorough with this, then.

"Lady in red robes and conjured armor." She looked down and away, embarrassed. She'd barely managed to survive the attack, and that from someone who was probably best served in an insane asylum, not a grave. "They talk about the Dawn, and Paradise. Caught me alone, in an inn. They killed the Emperor." He inhaled sharply, not expecting that tidbit. She winced - he pulled the wrappings just a little too tight at that.

"When precisely were you planning to divulge this?"

"... Now?" She hadn't particularly planned on it at all, but...

He closed his eyes. She thought she heard him counting in the language of the Dunmer, though she couldn't say that she, herself knew the words. "Nine give me patience …. You've had no formal training, I assume." She opened her mouth, shut it, shook her head. She didn't think he really _needed_ to know about her work for the Brotherhood. "Exactly. As a civilian, I shouldn't expect more."

Lyssi looked around at the empty room. "Monks?"

Jauffre shook his head. "Almost all of my brothers here are, or were, members of the Blades. They've been trained, they know what is expected of them." A sigh. "I am being rude again. My apologies."

Lyssi shrugged, inclining her head slightly. She'd been treated far worse. He'd actually made her accept his care - most probably wouldn't even bother to offer, especially believing it was her nature that made her a vicious predator.

She rubbed the scar over her collarbone. It picked that moment to throb incessantly. She mumbled a soft healing chant, taking some of the pain away. She was just so tired ….

"That scar, on your shoulder. Did it come from the same place as your injury?" He gestured at her shoulder. She hadn't known he'd seen it. She considered, taking a long pause to do so, then shrugged and nodded. "So, it didn't come from _exactly_ the same place, then?" She looked at him, confused. She'd just told him, it did.

"You hesitated. It was a different person? Perhaps another one of these assassins?" She nodded again, surprised. He wasn't Family. Could he _really_ read her that well?

He seemed to catch her look of suspicion, because he laughed. "Dear girl, in my line of work, you _learn_ to read people. How else would you know who was a threat to the Empire? People lie. It's just what they _do._"

She nodded, thoughtfully.

"Now, not to bring ill luck on us, but the dawn _is_ breaking - perhaps you should get some rest." She nodded, cringing slightly at the thought. He patted her shoulder, comfortingly. "These past few days must have seemed a nightmare to you. Get some sleep."

* * *

((And, letter time! Woot! ... Yay, stalker. The errors in capitalization are deliberate, and the guy's kinda nucking futz.))

my Dearest Mistress,

How i've missed You. You taught me so much in so short a time. You taught me to love, and now my heart aches to be with You. my every thought is about You. Please, come to me and take what You need. Mistress, i cannot be complete without You. Please tell me what i must do.

- Your devoted servant


	10. Chapter 10: Dismissed

Author's Note: Would the April Fool's joke be pretending the story ISN'T over?

Meh. Life happened, not much to say past that.

Disclaimer: Do we even need to go into the things I'm not owning here? Oblivion. Though I bought it for the 360, too! I figure I'll be able to do more of the _main_ quests if I'm not so distracted by user-generated content. Ahem.

* * *

**Nobody Important**

_**Chapter Ten: Dismissed**_

_In which vampires are people too._

By: N3k0

* * *

This day's horror was little more than the _hunger._ Sleeping, she couldn't push it back, distract herself from it. It felt like acid, eating away at her from the inside _and_ the outside, her injuries only helping to fuel her pain. Interlaced with the starvation, the pain, came the sound of inhuman whimpers - almost shrieks.

And then ...

Warm, coppery liquid dripped onto her tongue, a couple drops, then a stream. She swallowed hungrily. Some part of her rebelled. The taste should be abhorrent to her, but it wasn't. It was sweet, delicious, even. A moment, two, was all it took. She settled into a somewhat more peaceful rest.

Then, she felt herself walking. She was still engulfed by darkness, still surrounded by it. She felt that she was in a forest, the moon high overhead. How long had it been since she'd truly fed? She wasn't certain. She could smell it, calling to her, drawing her inexorably toward the scent. A lake of it! Blood, everywhere. If she wanted, she could swim in it. She could even see steam rolling off the lake. The cold of the forest - she hadn't noticed before, but she was cold, so cold. She knelt, dipping both hands into the lake. She needed to feed, to drink. To live.

But her lips. When she opened her mouth to feed, she realized her lips had been sewn shut.

Cold, white hands gripped Lyssi's upper arms. She tried to scream, but before she could, she was pulled under.

She was going to drown.

* * *

Lyssi woke at dusk, shaken by whatever torment the day had brought her, though she couldn't now remember what had happened.

She was shaking, cold, and she smelled the coppery scent of blood on the air. Looking down at her pillow, she saw some stains of it. Looking down at her injury, she saw she'd bled through the bandaging. The wound felt all right, though; she'd probably be fine. There was a little tug whenever she moved wrong, but she was on the mend. She pressed her palm to her stomach, a quiet healing cantrip on her lips. She was a dealer of death, and it didn't seem right to her that she was becoming so good at this opposite talent.

She looked up and around. She saw a note on the stand by the bed, so she took it, carefully.

**Lyssi -  
**

**Please speak with me when you awaken.**

**- Jauffre**

She shook her head. What had she done _now?_ Was she too horrible a monster to keep around? Fine, she was planning on leaving this night regardless. She had work, she needed to be with her Family. They understood. They didn't judge her on what she was ...

She walked down the stairs to the main floor of the house, looking around. One of the priors, who had been sleeping when she arrived, approached her. "Jauffre is upstairs, miss." She shook her head. He smiled agreeably. "Not in the sleeping loft. Surely you didn't miss the second staircase? It leads to his study." Lyssi blushed, embarrassed. She _had,_ actually. She'd been nearly incoherent with pain and hunger....

She felt much better after a good day's rest, she decided.

"… Right, then. He would like to see you as soon as possible." Lyssi nodded. It would be polite to tell him she was going, she thought. Wouldn't it?

She walked up the stairs, making little noise. She wasn't deliberately trying to scare him. It was simply a force of habit, to approach unheard.

The monk noticed her before she could speak. "Ah, there you are. You were quite distressed, this morning. I didn't want to wake you; I wasn't certain how you would react." She decided it was time to inspect the floorboards, so she did. "However, I did take the liberty of feeding you, and ... " He stopped speaking momentarily. Possibly, he'd decided to take his chance to be fascinated by the fact that her skin, which was already pale enough, had managed to become a shade or two lighter still. She covered her mouth with one hand.

"... Are you _so_ uncomfortable with your condition, then?" He shook his head. "It isn't any wonder you entertain nightmares. After you were fed, you slept more soundly ... for a while, anyway." He shrugged. Lyssi thought perhaps he realized it wasn't _really_ his business anyway. She was glad.

"How is your wound?" She looked down. It was healing well – barely a scratch, now. She shrugged, and he nodded. "What we spoke of last night – you must not tell anyone. At the moment we do not know if our adversaries realize that they have not yet won, and it is imperative that they do not realize how much we need Martin until it is too late for them to snatch him away. You understand?" She nodded. Of course she did. "Well then. I will not keep you any longer. Trust in the Blades. We'll take care of everything."

Like they'd taken care of the Emperor?

She nodded, anyway. It wasn't her business. She wasn't some hero, out to save the world. She was an assassin, and she had contracts, and a Family, to return to.

_Even assassins can be loyal to the Empire, my daughter._

Walking out of the priory, she decided to ignore that little voice in her head. She'd done what the Emperor wanted … hadn't she?

* * *

((And back to the letters! Hoo, boy. This one's the follow up, because I felt it needed a follow-up, even though Lyssi doesn't keep copies of her own letters.))

_To Whom It May Concern:_

_You tried to kill me. I took your mind until I could be rid of you. I don't know how your Khajiit found me. The next one you send dies._

_Stop writing._

_- A_


	11. Chapter 11: Orders

Author's Note: Turns out that letter was more important than Lyssi gave Ocheeva credit for.

And from about here on, we move out of the "I'm editing!" phase and in to the "fffffffffff now I get to write from scratch again" phase. Isn't it lovely. The next few have proven to be really hard to write, as well. Yay!

* * *

**Nobody Important**

_**Chapter Ten: Orders**_

_In which locks are pretty much worthless._

By: N3k0

* * *

Lyssi began her journey back to Cheydinhal at an easy pace. She hadn't accepted any new contracts, and, with the Amulet out of her possession, she no longer had to worry about the red-robed assassins, probably. Sometime near dawn, she was fortunate enough to find a small, quiet town, with a small, comfortable inn.

The innkeeper was a woman named Jessica, and she had a friendly smile as she wiped down the counter. She told Lyssi that most of her few customers chose the very strangest hours to arrive, much as Lyssi herself had.

All Lyssi could say was, "Bed." That was really all that needed to be said, and a handful of coins later, she had the key to a locked room. Inside, she found a comfortable bed, with comfortable pillows, and a warm, comfortable blanket.

She hoped, of course, that for just one night, she could rest peacefully. Knowing otherwise, she dropped off into sleep.

She was correct.

She woke before she could begin to dream, rolling out of bed much as she had a mere two nights ago. Her eyes hadn't adjusted yet - the room was perfectly dark - so she let them relax for a moment as she performed the peculiar mental twist that let her see heat, life, rather than light.

What had awakened her had been the touch of a hand. A man's hand, to be exact, and she peered up at the robed, hooded, figure. Of course. She recognized Lucien Lachance. He was the one who had extended the invitation for her to join the Family. He was also rather livid. She wondered why, but didn't have to wait long guessing.

"You didn't even read the letter, did you?" His voice was accusatory. She almost felt herself shrink in size, except that such was impossible. Every muscle was tensed, though. Prepared to run if necessary. He held something in his hand - a paper. The letter? Probably. "Ocheeva _did_ tell you it was urgent? Imperative, even?" Lyssi nodded, figuring that he could see just as well, if not better, than she could.

"You remember the Tenets?" Another nod. "You must _never_ disobey. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis. Is any of this familiar to you, girl?" She nodded again. It almost seemed to enrage him further. "Then why? Why did you _disobey?_ What is so important that you dare to disobey me - disobey Sithis himself?" He advanced; she took a step back, still crouched. "Prove to me that you weren't. Tell me what it is that was so important that you traveled to the other side of Cyrodiil with work left to be done."

She bit her lip. She'd already given the Amulet to Jauffre. "The Emperor is dead."

"That is not the Brotherhood's affair, Alyssia." His eyes narrowed. "Unless you had something to do with his murder, perhaps?"

She shook her head, hastily.

"Then what _possible_ bearing could the Emperor's death have on your presence _here_, on the other side of the Empire?"

"I was there. He sent me to Chorrol." She was now reporting everything directly to her toes.

"Then you _did_ have something to do with the Emperor's death!"

She shook her head emphatically, looking up at Lachance as she did so. "But you did. Your presence there, to defend _or_ to attack, is still interference. We do not entangle ourselves lightly in such matters, Alyssia – and _never_ for free. The Mythic Dawn even contacted us to perform the assassination! We declined, of course, because their _payment was insufficient_ for such a target_._ What possessed you to try and play the _hero?_"

She returned her gaze to the floorboards.

"I thought I could trust you to accomplish the task I summoned you for, but as I could not even trust you to answer the summons, I am unsure that I can."

She should speak, reassure him that she would carry out whatever mission she was asked. Instead, she remained silent, her head bowed submissively. She _felt_ more than saw his approach. He put two fingers under her chin, dragged her gaze up to meet his.

"No. You won't disobey again." He smiled, and for once she thought it might have been authentic, before his expression became serious again. "Listen to me. You must return to the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. You must perform a ritual that has only rarely occurred in the history of the Brotherhood. It is essential that this be done."

Lyssi nodded. She felt like she'd failed her Family. She wouldn't again.

"There is a traitor among us. You've heard the rumors? An assassin among assassins, a murderer of the Family?" She hadn't. She shook her head. "That traitor has infiltrated the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. They've tainted it beyond all hope of repair. We know you are not the traitor - this Brother has been in operation since well before you joined us."

She shook her head. She couldn't believe this.

"The Sanctuary must undergo a Purification. You will not be bound by the Tenets in this matter, but you _must_ obey. Ocheeva, Teinaava, Talaendril, Gogron gro-Bolmog, M'raaj-Dar, Antoinetta Marie, and Vicente Valtieri _all_ must die."


	12. Chapter 12: Resignation

Author's Note: Whoo. So not only am I into the 'writing it up as I go' phase, but I'm also into some of the hardest chapters to write. I genuinely _like_ the Affably Evil Sanctuary members … but I also don't download mods that let me 'resurrect' them … I guess if I were playing a necromancer or something. *Shrug!*

Still, I've been writing these out in a notebook I've got, so yay! Few chapters ahead, there.

* * *

**Nobody Important**

_**Chapter Twelve: Resignation**_

_In which coming to terms with atrocity isn't actually that easy._

By: N3k0

* * *

She had a visitor, after Lachance left. Some rational part of her wondered why the Speaker had let the intruder live. It was obvious enough after a moment or two – if she died, she was hardly worthy to call herself "Assassin."

And if she lived, well, this would be a rather fitting punishment for her disobedience.

She wondered if she should inform her visitor of the danger he was in.

He wore red robes. They all did. Mythic Dawn – maybe it was a religious statement.

_Lachance knew their name._

Her guest had her pinned to the cheap and otherwise comfortable bed, a look of fury on his face as he slammed her shoulders against it once more. _"Where is it?"_ he demanded. She didn't answer.

The rational, thinking part of her didn't really have access to her body at the moment.

_How could he expect her to kill Vicente?_

The Dawn assassin should have realized by now that she didn't have it. He'd dumped her backpack out on the floor, rifled through her things. "Speak! You still have your tongue. Talk, and I'll make your death painless, girl."

She stared blankly into his eyes.

_She'd always figured the penalty for disobedience was death._

She wondered if she would have bruises.

He summoned a knife, the stench of sulfur wafting between them, and she wondered if she would have scars. An ugly smile crossed his face, as he pressed it against her cheek. "Are you mute, little bird? Is that why you haven't screamed for help?" There was a pinprick of pain where he first dug the blade in. "If you're worried for the others, don't be." The pinprick became a line as he almost gently cut her face open. "You see, they're already dead."

_She wouldn't do it._

"I actually prefer it this way, you know."

_And then what? Lachance would likely dispose of her, if this pest didn't manage it first. He'd send another assassin, then – one who wouldn't care._

He set to work on the other side of her face, dragging the blade down from her forehead. "You're supposed to react more. Flinching and squirming is all well and good, but really there's more … _satisfaction_ when you scream. The others screamed. Long and loud, until they went hoarse. Or I slit their throats. Magic is so _useful_ for quieting a ruckus, wouldn't you say?"

The sight in her left eye went dark.

_One who'd enjoy the work. A man like this one._

"No matter. A sculptor does not always have the best clay to work with. Really, with how little you move, you provide a better canvas for … more intricate designs." He was still smiling as he cut a thin gash under the left eye.

She could smell her own blood.

_She owed it to them. She loved them._

Lyssi focused her will, the untouched eye catching his, holding his. Horror crossed his features, as for a moment only, his hand stilled. His entire body trembled as he flung the blade away. It didn't clatter; it vanished in a puff of smoke.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound emerged.

_She'd make it painless for them._

A horrible grin twisted her mangled features.

"_Beg."_

* * *

There was just enough of the Redguard assassin left to fill a mug. She rather suspected he wouldn't bother her further; she turned her thoughts to more pressing issues.

She pressed her palm to her cheek, white light forming around it. The gashes closed, and slowly, sight began to return to her left eye. Over time, she expected she'd regain full use of it. That was good.

_So much for not being an ugly monster ..._

Moving slowly, she gathered her bloodied things from where he had scattered them across the floor. He'd been looking for the Amulet of course – apparently, this 'Dawn' weren't yet aware she'd gotten rid of it. She didn't think she'd be telling them about their error, and – looking once more at the few remaining bits of flesh and bone, she doubted the Redguard would be all that much more informative.

She found her notebook, pen, and ink amidst the carnage of her room, and counted herself fortunate that all three were in usable condition. She couldn't travel during the day, no, but she needed a plan. Vicente had taught her to plan – even if the plan went awry, as plans almost always did, having _some_ idea what she was doing would help her succeed.

_She couldn't be thinking this!_

She started with a list of their names on the left. That was the "problem" side of the paper.

_She had to._

Trust. That was her biggest asset, the one that would let her work mostly undisturbed. Her Family trusted her, except M'raaj-Dar, and she could manage the Khajiit. She'd never given anyone in the Sanctuary a reason not to trust her.

Trust went on the right side of the sheet. The "solution" side.

_She loved them._

She'd use the poison. It killed painlessly, starting with the brain, and even Argonians, with their legendary resistance to poisons, couldn't survive its effects. Antoinetta had once made a fairly lethal dish while she was still learning to cook, and it had laid low everyone in the Sanctuary except Vicente and Lyssi, who simply didn't eat it, and Ocheeva and Teinaava, for whom contaminated food wasn't an issue. They happily polished off the entire remainder of the dish when even Gogron fell ill.

Maybe – _maybe_ – she could get them all with the poison.

Of course, Vicente didn't eat.

She was in the middle of scribbling the word "Poison" in the right-hand column when she heard a noise. Her hand froze, her attention turned to the source.

There was a pounding on the front door of the inn. "In the name of the Emperor, I command you to open this door!"

* * *

((Letter tiem! This one is bloodied and crumpled in a back corner of the Sanctuary. Yep.))

Please, Mistress,

i would do anything, pay any price. i would kill anyone for You, i would let you feast on my blood until you had taken the last drop, and beg You to wring just a little more from my dry, dead corpse if it pleased You.

Let me be with You.

- Your loving servant


	13. Chapter 13: Monstrosity

**Author's Note:** All righty then! Semi-regular update schedule, 'kgo! Incidentally, this fic, if you weren't previously aware, kinda goes to dark places.

And stays there. I miss the funny bits.

You know, I'd really thought this chapter was longer than it is.

Disclaimer: It's pretty obvious, but I actually don't own the Elder Scrolls franchise. Who knew?

* * *

**Nobody Important**

_**Chapter Thirteen: Monstrosity**_

_In which the guard isn't stupid, just outmatched._

By: N3k0

* * *

She heard the Legionnaire, and wondered what fortune had rendered her so very _popular_ today. She was trapped inside a building that reeked like a slaughterhouse, having killed her second visitor after being deserted by the first. And now, this small inn in the middle of nowhere had the good fortune of not only being investigated by the guard, but having the investigation transpire _mere hours_ after the killing began. Lyssi knew of places in the Imperial City itself that, were a murder to happen there, wouldn't be investigated until days, weeks, or even months had passed.

Fortune had abandoned her today.

The Legionnaire was only a man, though. She'd mesmerize him into forgetting anything had happened here, and send him on his way. It would be a simple matter, and she wouldn't even have to kill the man. Alternatively, however – she cast a spell of invisibility over her things and laid down, pretending to be truly dead.

The Legionnaire moved from room to room, shocked, horrified oaths dropping from his lips every so often. When had the cultist had _time_ to create scenes to disgust even a hardened warrior? While she slept, of course.

He came to her room, and she had to force herself to relax, or she'd give herself up.

"W-why – why is this one whole?"

The blood she'd consumed _would_ have restored her face –

He tripped over her bag, and she barely concealed her wince. Invisible, not incorporeal. "What's going on here?"

The Legionnaire gave another confused glance toward her things, before once again turning his attention to her "corpse." His breathing picked up, his heartbeat accelerated. She was _hungry._ Maybe she'd just – no.

"Monster," he breathed, and she heard him draw his sword.

What had given her away?

_So hungry._

She sat up, slowly. He was shaking hard enough to rattle the heavy plate armor he wore, and fear was etched into his features. "You! You – you did this! Y-you – I – " He swallowed heavily, throat bobbing. She couldn't tear her eyes away. "You're under – you're under a-arrest. I-I'm going – I'm going to have to take y-you in."

_Just a little bite …. _

She stood, watching him. He was trying so hard to look away. The muscles in his neck were twitching.

"Shh." She pressed a finger to his lips, and oh, he _reeked_ of fear, his heart pounding against his chest. She could taste it already, the sweet nectar – deft fingers gently pulled the helmet from his head. _So, very, hungry._ "Shh."

She sank her fangs into the soft flesh of his throat, and the blood filled her, lit up her every nerve. Her body _sang._ Then, horror filled her. What was she _doing?_ Just mesmerize him and let him go, that was all she'd meant to do. The Legionnaire fell to the floor, and she looked away, disgusted with herself. He wasn't quite dead – she didn't _have_ to kill him.

What would she do with him if she didn't?

A sad smile crossed her lips, and she knelt to tend his wound. Of course.

She'd give him an entire den of lawbreakers to kill.

There was a trick to seizing the mind of a mortal, taking their will for her own. It was more intense, and far more lasting, than a simple charm. She hadn't yet mastered this art – and she had no idea how to release them after she took them. Still, a short lifetime of servitude was better than a quick death – wasn't it?

She'd tied him to a chair, stripped him of weapons and armor. He hadn't woken up yet, but his color was improving a bit. She estimated that she had a few minutes left.

What worried her was how natural it all felt.

* * *

((Letter tiem!))

_Princess – _

_When all this business with your dark and sinister master has blown over, why don't you come visit the Isles?_

_I'm sure you'd fit in fabulously._

_- Sheogorath, Lord and Master of Haskills Everywhere_

_P.S. We might have a use for a skilled assassin. Power, riches and all that. What do you say?_


	14. Chapter 14: Progress

**Author's Note:** Wooo! Again, huge props to pihwht from the Training Cattle mod.

Looks like links don't work _at all_ so look it up at TESNexus!

It's a cool beans mod! And it's not like cattle are an unheard-of concept – we see them in Morrowind and Deepscorn, if I'm not being completely and totally brainless, don't we?

* * *

**Nobody Important**

_**Chapter Fourteen: Progress**_

_In which brain cells are lost in the transition._

By: N3k0

* * *

He followed her like some kind of pet.

She hadn't killed him.

Was that a good thing?

"Mistress?" She didn't respond. Where did they get the idea that she wanted to be called that? "Mistress, where are we going?"

"Cheydinhal."

A few minutes of silence passed. Then, he spoke again.

"Mistress, why are we on foot?"

_Because she'd forgotten how slow other people were._

An awkward silence fell. Almost an hour passed before he spoke again, a silence for which Lyssi was grateful. "Mistress," he began again, "my feet hurt." A few minutes passed. "Mistress, I'm tired." She still didn't respond. "Mistress, I'm hungry."

Maybe she _should_ have just killed him.

He'd be dead soon enough anyway.

When Cheydinhal finally came into view, she stopped. He didn't, at least until he walked into her. Then, he stumbled backward and sat heavily on the ground. "Mistress, why – " She turned toward him, concentrating, and he fell silent. It was so simple, so … natural.

"Speak to no one."

He nodded, mutely.

"Stand."

He stood.

"Follow me."

He'd been a guard, but not one familiar to those at the gate, and she'd left him without his armor. The city guards seemed to assume the pair were simple civilians, and nothing more.

Part of her wondered how she expected the human to last even a moment or two against Gogron – against any of her family, really. Even Antoinetta could easily dispose of a fully trained, fully armed, fully armored guard, and Lyssi suspected the process of enslaving a mortal left them … damaged.

Still, it wasn't like she planned on letting him fight any of them alone.

_And it didn't matter if he died._

It was the dead of night – she guessed even most of her Family would be asleep by now. There were no guards near the abandoned house except her … pet … so she decided it most efficient to simply walk in the front door. This, naturally, prompted yet another question. "Mistress, are we breaking into a house?"

"Yes."

Fortunately, he didn't have anything to say to that.

"_Avoid unnecessary bloodshed."_ She walked a familiar path down the short hallway to the black door. _"Taking lives needlessly is … undisciplined. Crude. And, often, it will forfeit the bonus. We can't have that now, hm?"_

It was an odd realization she came to.

" – _the color of night?"_

An assassin who suddenly discovered that she didn't _like_ killing? Odd indeed.

"Sanguine, my brother," and a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She turned to her charge. Charge, like he was mentally unwell, perhaps – yes. "Stay."

He froze, looking stiff and awkward. She bit her lip, considering.

"Hide."

Entering the Sanctuary proper, she found what she expected. The skeletal guardian shambled past, quiet as it could manage, really. Teinaava was reading a book. Like her Sire – like Vicente – Teinaava loved to read. She sometimes overheard them chatting about literature, and she could still remember the time, about two months after she'd joined, when she'd uncomfortably stood before the lizard, offering him a book she'd filched from a dead target's house. He'd kept her gift – if she wasn't mistaken, he was actually reading it now.

In that moment, she hated herself.

"Food?" She held the apple out to Teinaava. He often forgot to eat, and she didn't need to. He'd think it a simple, kind gesture. She did usually try to be helpful.

"Ah, my Sister. Many thanks." He gave an Argonian approximation of a smile. "I fear that sometimes, if you were not here, I would starve to death entirely." He laughed, and she gave an uncomfortable smile in return. "Ah, but then where would Ocheeva be, no?" He shook his head, taking a hearty bite from the apple.

One down, though the poison would kill slowly. Painlessly.

"There you are!" Talaendril tapped her on the shoulder, and Lyssi jumped a bit. The other Bosmer was quieter than the wind, at times. "I hadn't thought you'd return so soon. Were you successful?" Her Sister was smiling.

Talaendril was always smiling.

Lyssi nodded, thinking quickly. "Walk?"

The other Bosmer nodded. "It seems all I do these days is walk – but I'm more than happy to come with you, of course." Talaendril gave a sympathetic smile as they turned away from their slowly-dying Brother. "Is it that Dunmer again?"

Lyssi nodded solemnly, leading her Sister back toward the door. Truthfully, she did find a bit of peace in just walking the nighttime streets of Cheydinhal. And, truthfully, there was a creepy Dunmer with an awful habit of following her around and sending her strange letters.

And truthfully, they'd never get out the front door together.

"Are you sure you don't want me to kill him for you?" Talaendril asked, looking a bit worried as they entered the cellar.

Lyssi focused her will.

"Don't like killing," she confessed quietly.

Talaendril considered this for a moment, then nodded. She rested a hand gently on Lyssi's shoulder. "You don't _have_ to enjoy it, Sister. Sithis only demands that you _do_ it."

Shock crossed the other Bosmer's features as a sword pierced her heart from behind.

"Thank you. I know."

Her pet pulled the blade free, looking hopeful.

"Did I do good, Mistress?"

She felt sick. "Yes. You did good."

* * *

_He's headed to Anvil. Ten gold, as usual._


	15. Chapter 15: Death in the Family

**Author's Note:** Woah. this was a hard chapter to write.

Not much to say. Amusingly, on the playthrough I'm currently doing on the 360, this actually played out as: Talaendril got pissed off at me for pickpocketing her and continuously refused my yields, so I led her to shoot down _everybody else._ Bit anticlimactic and bad AI is kinda bad. Ahem. Anyway.

Don't own, don't sue, have some cake.

* * *

**Nobody Important**

_**Chapter Fifteen: Death in the Family**_

_In which more dialogue occurs._

By: N3k0

* * *

_She couldn't think about what she was doing._

Antoinetta and Gogron died in their sleep, throats opened. So much blood wasted, the feral part of her lamented as the orc gurgled his last breaths. She'd left her pet behind, to wait for her. If she had to face Vicente … well, the human wouldn't be much of a distraction. She just had to hope Vicente was otherwise occupied.

_He'd be reading._

M'raaj-Dar would be in the training room. He was an accomplished spellcaster, and spent almost all of his free time practicing his craft. Lyssi had learned much of magic from him, on Ocheeva's orders.

Of course, he also had to eat. Lyssi was opening the door to the living area when she encountered the cat, and an awkward silence passed between them. She'd been meticulous, and her weapon was hidden, for the moment. He sniffed the air, staring at her, and offered a quiet snarl, muttering something about 'bloodsuckers' as he passed. She followed him, quietly. When he sat at the table to eat, she sat across from him, palming a vial of poison.

She didn't want to fight him directly. His spells would negate her slim advantages.

"I don't _like_ you," he said, dropping a slab of meat onto his plate. "I do not know why you followed me. I think I have made it clear enough that I do not want to be your _friend._ I'd rather have nothing to do with you!" He glared across the table at her, and poured some wine into his cup.

"Why?" She kept her voice quiet, gently reaching out with her magic to calm him.

He stood, slamming his hands down on the table. "Because of that!"

A little more magic to the spell – and – "Because of what?" She steadied the cups – he'd practically tipped the table over with his outburst.

_Keep him distracted …_

"_Everything_ comes easily to you! Years of study! _Years!_ I spent years training to be a mage. It is my life's work! Gogron spends every day training with weapons. Even Antoinetta _tries_ to better herself, but you!

"You waltz in, already favored by Lachance, and effortlessly you breeze through contracts. Every skill comes naturally to you, and who are you anyway?" He took a sip of his wine, the worst of his fury dimming. "An outsider. What right do you have to pretend to be worthy of licking the scum off my paws, much less call yourself a Dark Sister? You bungle simple tasks, then stumble through important contracts on blind luck. One day your luck – "

M'raaj-Dar looked around, a bit confused. "One day your luck will run … " He looked down at his cup. "... You poisoned me?"

Lyssi nodded.

He laughed, hysterically. "The traitor. Ah, _now_ I see. Aha … ahaha … "

The cat fell face-first into his food, dead. She felt a bit sad.

He'd had a point.

She had to move on. Ocheeva would still be asleep, then she'd confront Vicente. She was surprised she hadn't already encountered him.

_He'd be reading still._

Ocheeva died quietly, and Lyssi allowed herself to gorge here. She'd need every edge she could get against Vicente, and the blood would give her strength. It didn't hurt; it never hurt. She was careful with her fangs.

She steeled herself to face the elder vampire, expecting a grand confrontation, perhaps. Maybe they would fight. Maybe he would understand.

_Maybe he would kill her, and she wouldn't have to live with what she'd done._

She hadn't expected his strong hands to grab her from behind. She hadn't expected the cold steel pressed to her throat. He held her to his chest with the blade of the sword.

"Ah, my Daughter. _So_ good to see you again."

She froze.

"Nothing to say? I had hoped at least for a greeting – perhaps an explanation? I think one is in order. Don't you?" He kept the civil veneer thin. He was angry. So angry …

Of course he knew. He was _Vicente._ He knew everything.

"Lucien."

She could hear the smile in his voice, and the malice it failed to mask. "See, that wasn't so hard, mm? So – " He dug the blade in, just enough to draw blood. "_Why_ did Lucien order this?"

_He didn't have to hurt her,_ some childish voice whined. _He was Vicente. She would have done anything he asked, and gladly._

"Traitor." Her voice came out sullenly.

An amused note entered his voice. "I beg your pardon?"

"There is a traitor."

He laughed, and it was a hard sound. "Everyone knew that, or at least suspected. The murders … unless … "

"A Purification." For the first time in years – since before Mother left, even – she felt tears well up. The sensation was strange, at first, and she found it hard to breathe, harder to speak. "The – the traitor. Was … was from here. This Sanctuary."

"Ah, Lucien … Lucien." Vicente seemed to be musing aloud to himself. "I would have gladly assisted you in this, and you order my death. Such a pity it should come to this. No matter."

He shifted, subtly, his attention returning to her, and she would swear she felt herself shrink in size. "As for _you, _my _dearest Daughter._ You should be proud. Few assassins are skilled enough to eliminate so many of their Brethren, especially within the comfort and safety of their own Sanctuary." He paused, and she had nothing to say – for a moment there was silence between them.

Lyssi gathered her will, swallowed, and closed her eyes. He was going to kill her. _Vicente_ was going to kill her.

She hadn't really expected to fail.

M'raaj-Dar was right.

"Unfortunately, I cannot allow you to kill me."

He dragged the blade across her throat.

Fire blossomed around them, and all she knew was pain.

* * *

((I ran out of letters! So now I'm picking out relevant parts of in-game books. Fooor … Foreshadowing. Sure! This one's from _Manifesto Cyrodiil Vampyrum, _a Deepscorn Hollow book_._))

… _Above all, reveal thyself and our Order to no other, for discretion is the greatest of our virtues. Do not feed where you may be found out, or on those who may not suspect your passing. Avoid daylight by lifestyle; dispel common belief in our kind, and maintain supple appearance through satisfaction of the thirst …._


	16. Chapter 16: Phoenix

**Author's Note:** And this one was incredibly fun to write! It may be just a biiiit disorienting.

For anyone confused: The Green Pact that Bosmer follow apparently forbids them from cutting their own wood or harvesting plant matter, and gives them a strictly carnivorous (and sometimes ritually cannibalistic) diet. And now – on with the show!

Here's hoping the bold parts stay put. ._.

IODH. The cake was a lie. Sorry. I kind of ate it.

* * *

**Nobody Important**

_**Chapter Sixteen: Phoenix**_

_In which a nightmare plays out._

By: N3k0

* * *

Every nerve was on fire.

"_Listen, ape, fire is one of the easier elements to call – controlling it is the difficult part."_

"Mommy, one of the human boys called me a name today."

**Blood.** She needed it. Her body pleaded with her to find more of it.** Kill. Rip. Shred. Tear.** **BLOOD! BLOOD! BLOOD!**

"_If you burn the house down, this will be the last spell you ever learn – I don't care what Ocheeva says. Understand?"_

Ghoulish figures in the dark, and the Khajiit's haunting laughter. "Even I never thought it would be _you._"

"What's a 'cannibal,' Mommy?"

**BLOOD.**

_The first spark, and primal fear filled her. "FOCUS, ape! By Sithis - "_

Little Tommy Jones was the boy who called her that. He took her food, and laughed when she cried.

**BLOOD! **A river of it, a sea – she **needed** it. She felt an army wouldn't be enough to sate her thirst – but it would be a start. **Blood …**

_Fire blossomed, then exploded outward. She scrambled back, as the thing in the flames claimed a good chunk of the floor._

Little Tommy stood over her, a giant to her five-year-old mind. And a thing of shadows and teeth formed behind him … oh … "Cannibal! Can-ni-bal! Can-ni-bal!"

Talaendril held Gogron close, the sword piercing them both. Talaendril glared at her with eyes sewn shit, and a wide, red maw opened at Gogron's throat. Every tooth a fang …

**BLOOD food BLOOD food BLOOD food BLOOD food BLOOD food BLOOD food BLOOD food BLOOD food BLOOD food BLOOD food BLOOD food BLOOD food BLOOD food BLOOD food BLOOD**

"Can-ni-bal! Can-ni-bal!" The thing of teeth and shadows sank pointed fangs into Little Tommy's side. He squealed like a pig when his entrails spilled out. Cannibal.

_M'raaj-Dar dumped a bucket of water on the flames and glared at her. Ocheeva _requests_ that I help you. Let us move on to something _even more _basic._

She felt white hands on her body, grabbing at her, pulling her down with them. She fought them, screaming until her voice grew hoarse, thrashing madly. Death wanted her. _Sithis_ wanted her.

**FOOD blood FOOD blood FOOD blood FOOD blood FOOD blood FOOD blood FOOD blood FOOD blood FOOD blood FOOD blood FOOD blood FOOD blood FOOD blood FOOD blood FOOD**

"Did you know that little boys are often meanest to the ones they're sweet on, little Lyssikins?" Her mother's soothing voice issued from the maw of the shadow beast. When it pulled away from its feast, it stared at her with terrible red eyes.

"_Let's try a simple Light spell. No heat! Only light!"_

She saw Vicente before her, and he gave a smirk and a quiet round of applause.

"Cannibal! Cannibal! Cannibal!"

"But Mommy, I don't do that."

"I know, Lyssikins. I know."

_The shadow beast wore Lyssi's own features._

_

* * *

_She woke with the sweet taste of blood in her mouth, hunger sharp in her stomach, and the faint sound of clapping in her ears.

All this was odd, since she hadn't really expected to wake up at all.

"They're called cattle, you know." Lucien's voice was quiet, somewhere off to the right. It was blindingly bright in the room, and her vision was fuzzy. "Vampires – usually ancient, powerful vampires – take them away from their homes, away from their lives, to serve as food. I hadn't expected that from you."

**Food.**

There was a weight on her leg, and she saw a fuzzy shape there, pulsing dimly with life.

"I believe you might actually be worthy to be my Silencer. Of course, the available pool of candidates has shrunk somewhat, and **BLOOD! food! BLOOD! so. hungry. BLOOD! blood! BLOOD! blood! BLOOD!"**

Lachance's fuzzy shape bent somewhat. Her eyes never left the dark form, outlined as it was in the heat of his life's blood. He continued talking, rifling through her things, but she couldn't hear words over the pounding in her head, the thumping in her ears.

**BLOOD! BLOOD! BLOOD!**

If she'd been able to move, she would have attacked him then.

**So hungry.**

**

* * *

**((This'n's from _Immortal Blood._))

… _"Now, tell me," he said. "Of the vampires of __Cyrodiil__."_

_I told him what I could. There was but one tribe in Cyrodiil, a powerful clan who had ousted all other competitors, much like the __Imperials__ themselves had done. Their true name was unknown, lost in history, but they were experts at concealment. If they kept themselves well-fed, they were indistinguishable from living persons. They were cultured, more civilized than the vampires of the provinces, preferring to feed on victims while they were asleep, unaware …._


	17. Chapter 17: Slaughter

**Author's Note: **Late in coming, really short, but hey. New job. SCII. Actually playing Oblivion. Go figure.

If you like the story, why not pop in with a quick little +fav or review? It's encouraging. Lets me know the story I'm actually working on is at least as interesting as the one I hammered out in one afternoon.

IODH. Don't own Oblivion, though I just downloaded all the official DLC.

* * *

**Nobody Important**

_**Chapter Seventeen: Slaughter**_

_In which pain is only temporary._

By: N3k0

* * *

By some dark miracle, she found the strength to stand. This caused her feet to hurt.

It was painful, and she was fairly certain Sithis' Void would have been more pleasant. But she was alive, and she was standing.

The scent of blood was heavy in the air. Old blood. Dead blood.

She was starving.

Every instinct told her to feed – to sink her fangs into the first warm flesh she found: her pet. No, she told that instinct: he was half-dead already, barely a mouthful, much less a meal.

She needed a feast.

She slumped against the wall for a moment. That made her entire side hurt. Feeling her way along the hallway made her hands hurt. Resting for even a moment brought no real respite from those pains – but emphasized the agony of her hunger.

It took everything she had just to make it to the surface. If she'd still had tear ducts, she imagined she'd be crying, but no – they, too, throbbed with pain.

She felt her way along, almost crawling on the ground. It didn't take long for someone to notice her, in her wretched state. She could smell metal, and there was this … sense … of vitality. She'd feed well. He called for help. A healer. She could hear the yell, get the gist of his meaning.

To her, his words were simple: "More food."

She grinned. He screamed again.

Conscious thought abandoned her.

* * *

Well.

That wasn't quite an entirely unmitigated disaster.

Her burns were _probably_ too extensive for a conclusive identification, though her ears were more or less in tact. If anyone had seen her and lived, they could guess she was some kind of elf. Or maybe an orc. Orcs had the ears too, but then they had the teeth – she had teeth, but her fangs were all from the top.

There'd been only one civilian casualty, and he was still alive. She vaguely remembered an arrow through her shoulder distracting her. Even that memory was hazy. If the arrow weren't still there – she grunted, ripped it out, and dropped it – she doubted she'd remember even that much.

Five guards dead, thirteen injured, and one civilian casualty. Inside her, she felt the blood welling up. Outside, her skin bubbled, and she peeled away grayish-black sludge that had once been skin. In places, her bones were literally showing. The blood rushed everywhere, repaired everything at once. She even felt shattered bits of bone rearrange themselves, fuse together.

She sat atop the city wall, naked as a newborn babe. The guard was too busy tending its own tonight, and humans rarely bothered looking up.

It was time to go.

She imagined Lucien would have work for her. Even if he didn't, she couldn't stay here.

Remaining in Cheydinhal was a guaranteed death. If not today, then the next, if not the next … eventually. They knew they had a vampire in their midst.

And much as she'd learned to hate killing, she _refused_ to die.

* * *

((And another letter. I get the feeling she hasn't actually received all of them.))

_Right now you're a pawn, Princess, and everybody's got their hands on you. They're right to do that, though it must make you dreadfully uncomfortable to be in the middle of it all._

_Not all of them see what I do, though._

_If you push a pawn far enough, she becomes a queen._

_Signed - _

_Mrs. Sheo_

_P.S. - I tried being a woman for a day. I really don't know what you see in it._


	18. Chapter 18: Silencer

**Author's Note: **Woo, new shift. Brain. So sleepy. Forgive the suck. I lost my old notebook, so I'm rewriting this bit _again._ And I'm sleepy.

Is it from the game? Do you recognize it? Awesome. My name is not Bethesda Softworks, so I didn't make that bit.

* * *

**Nobody Important**

_**Chapter Eighteen: Silencer**_

_In which much murder is glossed over._

By: N3k0

* * *

Two weeks passed.

Lachance had left her a letter explaining her new role. She was his Silencer, his most trusted and valuable asset. This, naturally, meant she'd never see him again. He left orders for her in locked boxes, their locations increasingly remote, and increasingly _lethal._

Part of her wondered what would happen if someone tampered with one of these "dead drops," but she already knew the short version: she'd be out five hundred gold.

It didn't take long for her to realize Lachance was the real traitor. She'd discovered his treachery in the home of the Khajiit J'Ghasta – with the cat's corpse cooling, and the sun well over the horizon, she'd had nothing to do but rifle through his things. She'd found robes and a hood to match Lucien's – Black Hand clothing – and several books about the Brotherhood. It was damning evidence, to Lyssi's mind, especially with the excuse Lachance had given.

The excuse itself was odd. She hadn't figured that Lachance would be much for explaining _why_ the man needed to die. Ocheeva hadn't been, and the only time Vicente had given that much background on a Contract was when it was required for her to stage a murder, rather than actually kill anyone.

Maybe it was a mark of her role as Silencer. She got to see more if the inner workings of the world. Even if they were all lies.

She wondered what drove Lachance to kill off his brethren like that – for she took no blame, here. He was the murderer. She was just the knife.

In the end, though, it didn't matter.

Knowing that Lachance was the traitor made it harder to excuse following his orders. Why did she continue? Why trudge all the way up a mountain in a blizzard to find one target? Why wade through a waterlogged cave for another?

The money was good, it was true. She'd bought and furnished a shack in the Imperial City with her earnings. She'd be lying if she claimed that was the reason, though. She barely got to sleep at all, much less with the luxury of a _bed._

The Mythic Dawn hounded her. Every few nights, one or two of them would find her. One day, she'd had to slaughter a group of six. One night, she woke up in the throat of a massive lizard-thing, and had to cut herself out before the beast could finish digesting her.

When it wasn't the Dawn, seeking her out for something she didn't have, it was the Argonian she'd come to know as Eshk. She supposed he'd gone rogue from the Brotherhood: he'd apparently been quite fond of Ocheeva and Teinaava, and he blamed her for their deaths.

Unlike the Dawn assassins who'd come for her, Eshk was still alive. He was skilled enough, she supposed … and Lyssi couldn't fault him for his hatred.

Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, then. She'd gone mad, but unlike a normal person who could just lay down and die, she had to keep going.

Or maybe, just maybe, she wanted to see the Brotherhood as a whole – and Lachance in particular – to feel her pain. The faster she worked, the more Families she hurt. The swifter retribution came.

After all.

Lachance was the murderer.

She was just the knife.

* * *

Alyssia the Bosmer knelt next to the corpse. Her prey had been a wood elf, like her. And in a far cry from the timid, fearful thing she'd been, she murdered him in the center of town, guards be damned, at the feet of a female statue. The "lucky" old lady, it was called.

She was preparing her excuse while she cleaned her blade on his fancy green shirt. "He was _my_ man, sir," she'd begin, "And when he started seeing that _harlot ..._"

"What are you _doing?"_ Her reverie was broken by a voice she hadn't expected, with the question she had.

"Your orders."

Lachance looked like he'd slept even less in the past few weeks than she had. He was pale, shaky. His eyes were red-rimmed, his expression was shocked. Horrified.

Beaten.

"My orders, "he repeated dully. "_My_ orders? _My orders_ went ignored, while you _betrayed_ me! You think – you honestly think – " He laughed, and the sound of it was sick, almost manic. "J'Ghasta, Shaleez … Alval … even Havilstein Hoar-Blood. Speakers, and Silencers all … and now this! The Listener himself!" He looked down at the body, disgusted, and her gaze followed his. "What could possibly make you think _I_ ordered this?"

"Your orders," she repeated, this time presenting him with the last of the dead drop notes. He took it from her, and she saw his hand trembling.

"This – this is my handwriting, it's true – but these are _not _my words. Tell me – if I had written these orders … why would I have called an assassin on you?" He watched her, waited for her reaction. He was cold and calculating, even pushed to the edge like this.

An assassin, though? "... Eshk?" She raised an eyebrow, arms folded quietly. "Worked alone. He was overwrought. Figured he'd gone rogue." She shrugged a bit at that.

"It doesn't matter." He shook his head. "Nevermind. The important thing is that we stop this madness. It says here your next drop is in Anvil. _These drops were planted by someone else._ These orders are forgeries, demanding the deaths of the highest echelon of the Dark Brotherhood. We – _you –_ need to find out who switched the orders. Find proof if you can. Then kill him. The Black Hand knows you are my Silencer – they know you act on my behalf." He laughed a little bit at the irony. "Despite your part in these murders, they know you are innocent. After all you're only the knife."

He nodded slightly to her, handed the note back. "Walk quietly, Silencer, but be swift. We _must_ clear my name. We must find the real traitor here … before he kills again. When you've found the evidence, meet me at Applewatch. It's a farm near Bruma, deserted now."

She returned his nod and turned on her heel, already gone.

Maybe she just needed someone to obey.

* * *

_Tenet 1: Never dishonor the Night Mother. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis. _

_Tenet 2: Never betray the Dark Brotherhood or its secrets. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis. _

_Tenet 3: Never disobey or refuse to carry out an order from a Dark Brotherhood superior. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis. _

_Tenet 4: Never steal the possessions of a Dark Brother or Dark Sister. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis. _

_Tenet 5: Never kill a Dark Brother or Dark Sister. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis. _


	19. Chapter 19: Stopover

**Author's Note: **I think this might actually be the longest one yet. Lol.

Obvious Disclaimer of Obviousness: If it's from the game, it's not mine.

* * *

**Nobody Important**

_**Chapter Nineteen: Stopover**_

_In which disaster continues to strike. Or, Two Birds, One Giant, Flaming Meteor, on Fire.  
_

By: N3k0

* * *

She ran.

Lyssi ran, and continued to run, pushing her unnatural body to its limits.

Her gait had a leaping, bounding rhythm to it. Step, step, jump, step – she didn't always stick the landing, but a tumble was still forward movement, and she felt the need to race to the far edge of Tamriel. To run away.

The Traitor still lived. The Traitor still lived and her Family was dead, had died in vain. Her murders since were _lies,_ if Lachance was to be believed. She'd been killing Family – she'd known she was wounding the Brotherhood – but even her hope to reveal the true Traitor was a lie. Lucien was innocent – or he was sending her to die in his stead.

And at this point, she barely cared which.

Even with a body that rarely tired, even with the blood to replenish her and keep her moving long past the point a mortal should have _died_ outright of exhaustion, Lyssi couldn't quite reach Anvil before dawn. She had to rest, and her rest took her into the smallish city of Kvatch, where she laid down in a smallish bed in a smallish, lightless room.

She did manage to fall into a fitful, dreamless sleep, hours after she actually stopped moving.

She woke to screaming.

It wasn't her own; even her worst nightmares couldn't elicit that kind of _noise_ from her unwilling throat.

No, this scream came from outside the inn, and brought with it other screams, and the scents she'd become all too familiar with in these last two weeks, in such excess she felt she might gag.

Fire. Sulfur. Blood.

Someone was being gutted – someone close, probably still inside the building.

Someone had summoned Daedra, in numbers great enough to count as an army.

And, she was reasonably certain, someone had set the town on fire.

She got the impression these events _might_ just be related to one another. She also had the sick realization that she might be the cause of all this. She saved that thought for later. Right now, she expected that she was in danger.

Terrible danger, as always.

She only removed a few pieces of gear when she forced herself to sleep, these days. It was the work of moments to tug her boots and gloves onto her feet and hands, and strap the more obvious of her blades to her form. The less obvious ones had never been removed.

She hugged the wall as she crept downstairs. Expecting the worst, Lyssi was not disappointed.

It was a kind of lizard. About the same size as an Argonian, but bulkier, and hunched forward, it had a long tail and a pointed snout made for ripping, tearing – not talking. It had some kind of frill across the back of its head. It was a sickly, pale, greenish color, she thought, and it didn't have the brilliant colors of a venomous reptile, something else that made it marginally different from the more humanoid lizards.

And it was naked. That was another important difference.

Most important, probably, was the fact that it was eating the innkeeper, and she got the impression from his twitching and pained gurgling that the innkeeper was probably still alive. She'd need to rectify that after she killed the daedra, if it didn't resolve itself.

A gut wound, she was given to understand, was an excruciatingly slow way to die.

She crept up behind the lizard-thing, blade drawn. Had to hit it just so, between the shoulders, likely.

At the last second, it whirled on her, latching its bloodied maw onto her arm, lashing out with long, deadly claws.

As she grunted in pain, Lyssi realized that she was in for a very bad night.

Like that was new.

* * *

Brother Martin knelt next to a wounded guardsman, wiping the man's brow with a cool, damp cloth. Something had torn the man's arm from its socket. Something had then, judging by the bruising and the shattered bones, thrown him bodily against a wall. Repeatedly. If this were an isolated incident, Martin might have called it a miracle that the man yet lived.

But no.

Here in the chapel, there were nearly a hundred survivors barricaded in. Only about a quarter of them were guards, and only half of _them_ remained fit to fight. He'd be surprised if even fifty of those crowded within the building managed to survive the night. Most were too injured, living on borrowed time.

No one was unscathed, not even him, though he got off lightest. His rooms had shaken, even from the depths of the church, from the thunderous weight of the daedric onslaught, and he'd received some scrapes and bruises himself.

The Daedra battered at the doors. An army had overrun his home, filled with monsters Martin had hoped never to see again. He'd left that path behind, he thought – far behind.

A guardsman who'd taken a gut wound – probably from a clannfear, with his paralysis and the size and shape of it – died soundlessly under his care, and Martin moved numbly onto the next wounded he could find. He had to keep working – had to bury himself in his work, so he could try to ignore his own horror … his own outrage.

The worst of it was that, if the two "Blades" that had arrived last week were to be believed, this had all happened because of him.

No, tonight, Brother Martin did not believe in miracles. He actually found it rather hard to believe in anything. The Gods had let this happen. Who would devote their faith to such monsters?

The Breton woman's hand fell on his shoulder, and he resisted the urge to strike at her. She was wearing plate, he told himself; he'd only hurt his hand. The Blade was probably a better fighter than he was, too; he'd spent his free time studying magic, not combat.

"Martin – Brother Martin," she began. "We can't afford to stay here. You _know_ that." There came an enormous, thundering boom from the door, to emphasize her point. It was ridiculous to think _any_ of them would survive the night. The chapel could only stand against that for so long. The doors were sturdy, but they hadn't been built for this.

He could hear his own teeth grinding in his jaw. "Ariel. I didn't think I'd need to repeat myself. We are not discussing this in front of the others." He tied off the bandage, all the while reminding himself not to do anything stupid. Tensions were high enough; the townsfolk hardly needed to see their priest begin a fistfight.

And lose. He'd probably lose.

"We _must_ discuss this. Brother Martin – Martin _Septim – _you are the heir to the throne. Your Empire needs you." She paused, looked around at the probably-doomed townspeople. "If you die here, all hope is lost. Everyone, everywhere, will die."

He glared at her, hands balling into fists. _"These people_ need me." He stood to his full height – _don'thitherdon'thitherdon't – _and 'anger' did not describe his feelings well enough. He was … livid, yes. That was it. "Am I the heir? Fine. I order you to _drop the subject. _I am not leaving these people to die. And, in case you hadn't noticed, _my_ escape is just as unlikely as theirs!"

He looked around. "If you can't abide my orders, then I must not be the heir you seek, and you are wasting your breath. My time. And the time of all these people." The screams and moans of the injured, the dying – the wails of grief. It was finally too much. He needed to rest.

"Ariel. I have watched babies I helped bring into this world die today. Children barely old enough to know what a sword is have been butchered by things _they were never meant to see._ I have watched the Daedra slaughter these people. You speak of the good of my empire, my people." He paused, for only a moment.

"_These are my people._ Make yourself useful. Take your Nord friend with you. I will be in my room."

* * *

It was fascinating to her, that none of the three seemed to notice the attention they'd gained. It wasn't like the common folk lacked ears, after all, nor eyes.

"That boy would make a fine Emperor," she heard one old man say.

The mood of the place shifted. For the better, she thought. People stood or sat just a bit straighter, some of the walking wounded seemed a bit further from death's door.

No one noticed her, small and injured as she was. All eyes were on Brother Martin's departure, at first. She wanted it that way, preferred to be ignored. And it wasn't like she'd forgotten how to become invisible.


	20. Chapter 20: Visitor

**Author's Note: **Ohai.

IODH. Not mine. Stop sending the lawyers.

* * *

**Nobody Important**

_**Chapter Twenty: Visitor**_

_In which nobody actually dies._

By: N3k0

* * *

Martin _Septim_ was throwing a childish fit, and he knew it. Some of the bowls and plates were flung across the room with his bare hands. They clattered against the walls, his desk, the floor. Some of the books, his last ink pot, and three quills came to life with the dull glow of purple fire and jumped at the walls on their own.

It felt good. Cathartic.

And then he heard someone clear their throat behind him. One of the books – a heavy tome, _Varieties of Daedra_ – changed course, aimed at this interloper, who sat calmly on his bed.

The intruder caught the book easily, with both hands. Those pale, dainty, thoroughly scarred, blood-spattered hands had moved faster than normal human reflexes should allow. Then again, as the intruder lowered the book, he could tell by the ears it was some kind of elf.

At first, Martin could barely even guess the gender of his guest. She opened her mouth to speak, and her voice was gravelly with disuse.

"Martin Septim." She nodded politely, setting the book aside. She wore simple black clothing, reinforced in key places by blackened leather. The sleeves of her tunic were shredded, and on closer inspection, Martin realized that she _had_ been wearing gloves. Her arms were torn up. The wounds matched those of the previous victim. Clannfear claws. Clannfear teeth.

_Clannfear claws paralyze._

Her eyes were glowing crimson. And her teeth … her teeth.

Martin took a step back, then another. A third. He stumbled against his desk and picked up one of the newly-dented plates in self-defense.

She was a vampire. And he was going to die.

Martin saw her expression, for just a moment. She looked hurt – emotionally, not just physically.

Then she vanished.

He caught another glimpse of those fierce red eyes. And then …

And then ….

* * *

The plate clattered to the floor. Martin couldn't remember why he was holding it. Everything from the neck up hurt, a general, throbbing pain, so he pressed his palm to his forehead and a cool, soothing light rushed through him.

_His tantrum. The noise. The stress. He'd probably given himself a headache, fool he was. Bah._

He opened his eyes to see a vaguely attractive Bosmer female sitting quietly on his bed. Her eyes were green, and there was something to that … he didn't know what, and really, it didn't matter, did it? Martin certainly wouldn't normally object to a pretty woman in his bed, under most circumstances. These not being most circumstances, however, he laid odds that she was either some kind of insomnia- or stress-related hallucination, or an assassin sent to kill him.

"I could kill you before you could scream for help from the guards." Option two, then. She peeled the remnants of her gloves away, and he briefly wondered what had destroyed them. There was blood, true, but no severe wounds remained. "Please, don't waste their time." Martin thought he should probably take offense at something about that statement, but he really wasn't in a position to argue with the girl. She spoke in the cool, deadly tones of someone who could, had, and would again do murder, and she did have quite a few blades that he could see. "I've had a … very bad night." She inspected her hands.

Like he hadn't! "... what do you want?" He got the impression that the Bosmer would never have let him see her if she had truly wanted to hurt him, threat aside. Even as he watched, she seemed to fade from view. Only the fact that he knew she was there kept her form distinct in his eyes, and even then it was only when he looked directly at her that he could see her clearly. His mind knew that it was probably some kind of dedicated chameleon spell. His eyes insisted that sometimes she just vanished.

"You need to leave this place." Her voice remained even. Quiet.

He frowned. "Or what, you'll kill me?" She raised an eyebrow, and he winced, reconsidering his words somewhat. "I am not leaving until it's safe for everyone to leave. With that gate out there, if we tried to evacuate this place, most of us would die. I would die."

She nodded quietly.

And this time, when she vanished, he knew that he was alone.

Why didn't he feel any _safer?_


	21. Chapter 21: A Gate to Oblivion

**Author's Note: **Wow! People actually read this thing!

Getting comments prompted me to actually write some more, so here 'tis.

Compliments and paychecks to Bethesda Softworks, I wanna visit Skyrim now.

* * *

**Nobody Important**

_**Chapter Twenty-One: A Gate to Oblivion**_

_In which all goes as planned, except when it doesn't. Or: Hey, is the ground on fire?_

By: N3k0

* * *

The Oblivion Gate was massive, standing even taller than the walls around it.

It towered where the entrance to Kvatch _used_ to be, a doorway into Oblivion itself, swirling with ominous, reddish light and scribed with runes of power. What Lyssi could make out of the land beyond it didn't really look habitable. If there was any way to avoid walking into the depths of Hell itself, she would have taken it.

She didn't have much choice though.

As it stood, she had a list of goals and a time limit.

She _had_ to get out of the city to make her way to Anvil. That was where the next Dead Drop would be, that was where she'd intercept the traitor. She'd catch him red-handed, and then kill him. That took precedence, was what made the other goals so pressing: she just didn't have _time_ for an apocalypse.

In order to get out of the city, she needed to bring down this Gate. Once the Gate was down, Martin Septim could go with his Blades, and the fate of the Empire would rest in _their_ capable hands, not hers. The less the heir had to interact with a murderer like her, the better for everyone.

_His blood had been so rich, so_ powerful.

She knew she couldn't resist it, even if she hadn't been starved and injured.

Next time she might not be able to stop at just a taste.

Taking in a breath she didn't _really_ need, she reached out to hold her hand in the center of the swirling vortex.

There came a sick, wrenching sensation.

And then … nothing.

* * *

Martin found that the other refugees had started looking to him for leadership. He didn't really know when it had happened, and he wasn't sure how to feel about that. But, he wasn't at all surprised, at least, when one of the guardsmen walked up to him, looking panicked.

"Brother Martin, I -" The man swallowed heavily.

Martin put on his most confident face. "What is it?"

The guard looked either way. There was no one in earshot. "Brother Martin, the exit – the hidden one, through the Undercroft – someone – someone _opened_ it."

So, she'd already gone. That exit took two strong men to open. "Are any of the refugees missing?"

"No, no one at all. The men are worried – we're not … what do we do about this?"

There was something … well, _many_ somethings that were just _wrong_ about that Bosmer. "Tell no one who doesn't already know. Has the doorway already been barred again?" The guardsman nodded. "Good. Keep your eyes open. We can't afford to give the Daedra even an inch."

The guard nodded, walking off.

Martin shook his head, praying silently for a miracle. At this point, that was the only thing they had left.

They were good as dead already.

At some point during the conversation, Ariel had come up. He'd be surprised if the guard had noticed her presence, but he was rather expecting her to turn up again soon. What was it that made him so _attractive_ to women who could apparently become invisible at will?

"It sounds like you know more about this than your friend there." She nodded toward the departing guard. "Care to let me in on the secret?"

Martin nodded, taking a deep breath. "I was visited by a Bosmer tonight …"

* * *

The heat was oppressive. Lyssi was confident this was the hottest she'd ever been without actively being on fire, and she could feel sweat beading up on her forehead. She swiped her arm across her face, looking around at the burning landscape.

It was so bright it hurt her eyes – like the day at high noon, though her memories of _that_ had already faded over a year of endless night, broken up only by fitful, nightmare-ridden sleep.

But it didn't burn, exactly.

She expected she'd catch aflame at any second from the sheer, unrelenting heat of it, but she wasn't burning _yet._ A small mercy, in Hell.

There was _something_ ironic about the situation, she just couldn't place what.

Ahead, she could just barely make out the form of what looked like an armored guard.

Above him stood one of the pale lizards, grown larger than a building – larger than any living creature had any right to be.

It roared, and the ground beneath it trembled.


	22. Chapter 22: Climb

**Author's Note:** You know, I don't think my story actually passes the Bechdel Test. That combined with the sheer amount of violence against the female main character is almost depressing.

Somebody wanna go back through and check?

Anyway, this is pretty much just an action sequence.

**Disclaimer:** The first time I saw a Clannfear Matriarch, I pretty much crapped myself. This and many other moments of panicky screaming, flailing, and running around in circles brought to you by Martigen's Monster Mod.

I never did quite get it to work with OOO. Sad.

* * *

**Nobody Important**

_**Chapter Twenty-Two: Climb**_

_In which it's very large._

By: N3k0

* * *

Somehow, the guard wasn't dead yet.

Good for him.

At least, he hadn't been the last time she checked. She didn't really have time to look for him right now: if she let herself get distracted _now_, she was fairly certain the great beast would shake her off and she would plummet to her death.

She'd come too far to let concern for someone she'd normally call "enemy" get her killed.

Lyssi ripped one of her daggers out of the massive lizard's back, dangling by the other for a moment. From this angle, the creature looked almost familiar, though she found it impossible to wrap her mind around the sheer scale of it. This scaled fiend seemed to be the mother of all Pale Lizards. Most _buildings_ were shorter than it. Her blades barely pierced its flesh, but the first dagger went in a bit higher, finding the small chinks in its natural armor.

Its scream of pain would have made her ears bleed, if they hadn't been already. She felt it, more than heard it, now. Pulling her blade free took leverage, so she slammed her boot into the thing's back a few times, yanking it this way and that until it wriggled loose.

A _geyser_ of blood shot from its back, before settling down, becoming only a river that flowed down to join the runoff from the monster's countless other wounds.

The predator lurking at the back of Lyssi's mind knew that her enormous prey's heart was almost in reach. It could sense the source of all that delicious red nectar. The scent of it nearly drove her mad.

She'd _just_ fed.

It wasn't like she was starving.

But then, few vampires were ever tempted with such a banquet, she was sure. This thing could sustain her for _years_, if only the blood wouldn't die with its owner.

The vampire found herself in need of footholds.

She drove the second blade in as deep as it would go, just under the thing's heart and to the right. The first went in on the opposite side.

Pressing one foot against the hilt of either dagger, she began to saw at the creature's back with a third blade, one which had been hidden before, out of habit more than anything.

The beast actually _stumbled._

She ripped her knife free, the arterial spray hitting her in a rush, almost forceful enough to shove her off.

Perhaps "through its stomach" would have been faster. But the burn of digestive acid could never be nearly so enjoyable.

She giggled.

* * *

Martin had given up hope there would be any more refugees to tend, and all his current charges had stabilized – or not – already. Of the entire city of Kvatch, he was quite certain that this tiny number was all that was left.

A rescue, he was sure, would be impossible.

It came as a surprise then, when one of the guards who _hadn't_ made it to the chapel was brought inside, half-delirious and babbling madness. There was something about an elf, but most of his focus was on the Daedra, a lizard taller than even the highest building. The man fainted not long after Martin began tending to him. Despite his mental instability, it was relatively clear that the only thing wrong with him was overexertion – and heatstroke.

"I know you don't want to hear it, Martin," Ariel laid her hand on his shoulder. "But your friend is probably dead. She – I'm sure she died bravely, and at … at least this one life was saved. We need to start working on _our_ escape now."

"I _told_ you –"

The Breton sounded as exasperated as he was. "I know – by the nine, I _know._ But the other gates have come down. We might – we might stand a chance. All of us."

A long silence fell between them.

"I don't want to die, Martin. And if we wait here ..."

Martin nodded. "There aren't enough supplies to last the week – even if the Daedra don't get us first. What do you propose?"


	23. Chapter 23: On Miracles

**Author's Note: **Gods above and below, life got hectic and this chapter has been fighting me ever since I finished the one before it.

*Hangs head in shame* Forgive me the delay.

**IODH:** I don't own it, I just want to finish it _once_ before November. Incidentally, I finally got OOO and MMM to work together - _after_ my computer crashed and forced a clean install on me.

* * *

**Nobody Important**

_**Chapter Twenty-Three: On Miracles**_

_In which one can survive just about everything, these days._

By: N3k0

* * *

Lyssi felt her life slipping away.

It trickled out sometimes, gushed others. She was going to die, though, that was the important thing. She'd survived fire and daylight and a number of other things that were supposed to kill her, but didn't - and now she was going to die.

It wasn't even an _enchanted_ blade, she thought with mild disgust. Or at least, if it had been enchanted, she couldn't detect the enchantment ... which wasn't saying much; she only dabbled with magic, and that, only when it was needful, which it rarely was. The blade _had_ been demonic in origin, though, that much she knew for certain. More than that, it had pierced her very heart. Normal elves, she was sure, would have died instantly.

Not her. She got to live out long, torturous minutes. At least she didn't have to breathe. She expected that the constant up and down would have torn her chest open even further.

She remembered she was standing on a platform, atop the tallest structure she'd ever seen apart from White-Gold Tower in the Imperial City. She held her pack in one hand, dragging it along the ground behind her. Even enchanted to seem weightless, the thing was ungainly, and often threw her off-balance. She suspected given its natural weight, it wouldn't throw her off as much - but then she'd be hard-pressed to lift it, even with her unnatural strength.

If she'd been wearing it, she wouldn't be dying now, though.

In front of her, floating in a glowing orb of light, was a block, like a hovering, six-sided die.

She held the block up to the first lights of predawn, staring at it with vision that blurred around the edges. It was etched with runes in a language she couldn't begin to make out, but then, she sometimes had a little trouble with plain Tamrielic letters.

Before long, it was too much work to hold the block up, so she set it down on her chest. It was immediately washed in crimson. She was a sticky mess with blood, her clothing ruined, her skin stained.

The demon, clad in full plate, was determined to take his killer with him. She'd thought him dead, but no - here he stood, behind her. She was exhausted by the climb, exhausted by the fight every single demonic sentinel had put up, exhausted by the very land outside this tower turning against her (who ever heard of plants tangling around legs and arms like living things?), and exhausted from the siege before. She hadn't checked to see if he was just playing dead. She hadn't heard him get up, hadn't heard the scraping of a sword drug against stone for the ringing that fought to become a dull roar in her ears.

She'd barely felt it when the sword punctured her chest from behind. There was a flash of something, behind her eyes, and she looked down to see almost two feet of greatsword sticking out of her. The demon had pulled his blade free effortlessly, and she fell forward, catching the stone with her free hand as she fell.

The world disintegrated around her, vanishing before she hit the ground.

Lyssi turned her head slightly to the side. She was lying flat on her back, now, staring at the shattered base of one of the pillars that had formed the massive Oblivion Gate. Apparently, the block was the keystone on which the portal was built, and with it gone, the portal couldn't stand anymore. It made sense to her, in the way anything magical made sense to her: she didn't think about it terribly much.

Right now, she couldn't think of anything terribly much.

But she'd done something. Something important, something good. There were things left to do, but there would always be things to do.

It was all right. She could rest, now.

She never saw the man's form standing over her.

* * *

In the early light of predawn, there was a sound that was not unlike a massive gong being rung - or at least, that was how Brother Martin had perceived it. No two refugees heard it the same, though everyone could agree on what came next. A roar, like a massive, angry, dying beast sounded from the south.

From the Oblivion Gate.

A young boy had found the way up to the high tower the chapel sported. Half-ruined, and long unused, no one else dared go up. Now, he did, and he reported the Gate's fall on his return. The Daedra, the boy said, were drawn to it, though only a few remained in the city anyway.

Here then was their diversion. The refugees took only what they needed. Those who could walk assisted those who could not, leaving only those who would not recover even with magical healing, and the bodies of the dead. Maybe they could return one day. Brother Martin prayed it would be one day soon.

The Nine showed him a miracle this day, guarding the refugees as they escaped through a lesser gate. He'd been overly optimistic - in total, it was thirty-seven people who managed to survive and escape, even counting Martin and the two Blades themselves, but that was thirty-seven lives the Nine had spared. They kept quiet, and there was no quarreling. Speed was of the essence, and they made good time out of the city.

Everyone knew that a raised voice here courted vivisection by a daedra - if they were lucky. Almost no one spoke, and when they did, it came in hushed whispers.

The Nine granted him a second miracle on top of the first. Outside the walls of Kvatch, the refugees found a camp of other survivors set up near the main road. Wives clung to their husbands, children to their parents. People mourned - even those few whose families remained mostly intact mourned at least one friend or distant relative. There were more dead than alive - but almost half of Kvatch had survived, it seemed. The nobility had holed up in the castle, so hope sprung from that corner, as well.

Everywhere he turned, he heard whispers about a Hero - or Heroine - of Kvatch, some solitary figure they found in the rubble where the gate had once stood. No one, it seemed, knew where exactly she was, nor how she fared - and Martin was very confident it was a she.

Finally, a guard approached him after sundown. He wore the haggard look of someone who had seen too much fighting these last few days. "I'm to understand you led these people out of the city, Brother Martin?"

Martin nodded quietly, so the man continued. "They tell me you're a healer, and a good one at that, is that true?" Another nod. He was tired, but he had enough magic left to put at least one or two more people to rights before he collapsed outright, anyway. Martin glanced back at Ariel, who stood at his right - the Nord at his left was unreadable, but the woman eyed the guardsman warily. "Forgive my manners - I'm Savlian Matius, acting guard captain."

"Then you'd be the one who held the road against the Daedra for two days straight?" Martin asked, inspecting the man. Still armored, he showed signs of exhaustion, but he wasn't badly injured yet, anyway.

The man - Savlian - nodded. "My men helped, of course. They're good, strong people. I ... also discovered the girl." At this, Martin felt himself perk up considerably. _Finally._ Ariel's firm hand on his shoulder restrained his eagerness. "Ah ... I see you've heard of our Heroine, then. She's in rough shape. I don't know enough about medicine to know if she _can_ be saved, in all honesty." Savlian reached up, rubbing the back of his head. "And she's ... unusual."

"May I see to her?" Martin asked, keeping himself in check. There might, after all, be nothing he could do.

The guardsman smiled. "Of course."


	24. Chapter 24: Bloodbath

**Author's Note: **Wheeeeeeeeeee. I'm working on it, I swear.

**IODH: **Not mine.

* * *

**Nobody Important **

_**Chapter Twenty-Four: Bloodbath**_

_In which anatomical limitations are explored._

By: N3k0

* * *

The tent was relatively small, and unlit. Before he entered, Ariel placed a hand on his shoulder. "You understand, no matter what you do, she might die anyway." Martin stared at her dully. Did she honestly think he didn't know that? Or ... it was because she thought he was the Heir. He couldn't put himself in any kind of danger, because he was the Heir, or she'd throw up a fuss. Well ... and she was a determined pessimist. That seemed to be her defining feature.

"Ariel, I've spent every waking moment of the last two days tending to people who might die no matter what I did for them. One more won't kill me." He offered her a kind, encouraging smile, before ducking into the tent, lighting it himself with a small mage-light. Illusions weren't his specialty, but he worked better if he could actually _see_ the injuries he tended - and the lights often let him read in bed without fussing over a lamp or candle. A smallish smile ghosted across his lips at the memory of better times - and vanished when he actually laid eyes on his patient.

The dark-haired girl was ashen, her face twisted in pain, her eyes squeezed shut. She held herself stiffly, but otherwise didn't seem inclined toward much movement. Where before he'd seen an almost rosy glow to her cheeks, she was now almost bloodless.

It wasn't hard to see why. Her chest had been bandaged up, but it was obvious she'd taken some kind of grievous wound. The bandages were soaked through with blood, and someone had removed what tattered clothes she'd been wearing and set them aside. By the state of them, they'd have done less than the bandages themselves to preserve her modesty. Where the bandages _didn't_ cover was almost as alarming as those places that they did. Other than the chest wound, various cuts and gashes marked her entire body. Where she wasn't cut, she was bruised. Where she wasn't cut or bruised, she had scars from times where she'd once _been_ cut open. Defensive scars seemed to mark every inch of pale skin. This stranger was not at all unused to combat - even abuse, maybe. And her face ...

Her face was lined with pain, yes, but she was gaunt as well. Her eyes were sunken into their sockets, and lightly bruised. He saw a thin scar that traced down over one eye, barely visible in this light. She seemed malnourished, her bones showing under the soft glow of his mage-light, a state that would not help the healing, since she'd obviously have no reserves of her own power for him to draw from.

Not for the first time, he thought that something was just _wrong_ with the Bosmer. Kneeling next to her, he tilted her head to the side, telling himself that he was just checking for injuries.

What he found didn't surprise him. It actually answered more questions than it raised. He just didn't have a lot of time to process it, before she bit him, sinking tiny, almost delicate fangs into his hand. Martin bit back a yell, determined not to call the guard unless it was _necessary, _staring at her as she suckled on the webbing between his thumb and forefinger. Before his eyes, her body seemed to relax. She wasn't breathing, but then, he couldn't remember if vampires actually needed to.

So that was it. The vampire was as strong as - possibly stronger than - two men, and she didn't die from an assortment of injuries that would have killed a normal person. He also suspected she was some kind of assassin, given the bits and pieces he could remember of their talk in his rooms. He could _not,_ however, remember if she'd given him her name, nor how exactly she'd snuck into or out of his rooms unnoticed.

The stuff of legends, their Heroine.

None of that changed his debt to her, nor did it change the fact that she was injured and he was a healer. It only made it somewhat more difficult; he'd never treated a vampire before.

Gently, he skimmed the line of her neck with his free hand, examining the scars there. Two puncture wounds, injuries that had torn her flesh open and apparently become infected. Where she'd been bitten, then. He reached up to her mouth, prying her away from his other hand - he couldn't afford to be distracted by blood loss, not when her injury was so severe.

The girl whimpered, trying to curl in on herself, but the pain of it forced her rigid again, a strangled noise escaping her. Even unconscious, she tried to keep quiet, it seemed.

He'd have to see the wound, so he produced a small knife of his own - he counted a full fifteen of hers lying next to the bedroll they'd set out for her, along with two more strapped to a heavy-looking backpack. His, however, was spelled _against_ causing injury, like he suspected hers weren't. It was also clean, and there were enchantments for sterility hammered into the very metal of the blade. Using it, he gently sliced away the bandages, wincing at what he saw.

If he was any judge, the Bosmer's heart had been nicked by whatever had pierced her - probably a sword of some kind, though serrated and decidedly _unclean._ Infection fought with the girl's body, angry red lines spreading sullenly from the wound. Did her heart even beat? Should it beat? He found himself at a loss. The injury was deep, too - no, it had come from the other side.

He'd never seen someone so injured still living, but then, he'd never dealt with vampires before. The only way he knew anything about the creatures was a mostly academic study of the occult, and even that touched more on the ways vampires were _not_ Daedra than on how to deal with them.

He was almost afraid to try anything, for fear that it wouldn't work - or worse, that it would hurt her.

First, he tried to burn out the infection with pure magic, but it was almost impossible to tell what parts were her own flesh and what was just common disease. Did vampires even get sick? Somehow he got the sense that her vampirism, the dark curse that marked her entire body, rather than just parts of it, was doing her more good than harm right now - and a thorough magical cleansing would probably burn that out, too, whereupon Martin was certain that she would die, just like anyone else who took that bad a chest wound would. Assuming, of course, he had enough power to burn it away - the curse seemed as much a part of her as her lungs, or her spine, to his sight.

He frowned, searching his memories for every scrap of information he'd ever picked up on vampires. The subject wasn't exactly one that was well-recorded, especially in Cyrodiil. In the Heartland, vampires apparently made themselves scarce, such that most people could go their entire lives without seeing one ... or knowing that they saw one, anyway.

Everything he'd ever read indicated a vampire needed blood to survive, and deprived of it they would die a long, horrible, torturous death. At least one 'scholar' had actually bled a vampire completely dry in the name of research ... though most copies of the book he'd published on the topic had been burned, and the man had turned up mysteriously dead not long after. The madman had written that ultimately, it wasn't even beheading that killed the vampire - it was the bleeding out that followed. Martin doubted that.

Focused as he was on the injury, he saw that yes, her heart did beat, slowly, stuttering at times. What would happen when it stopped?

He decided on a more practical question. How would he give her the blood she needed? He could hardly call a refugee in to be slaughtered, trading one life for another. He didn't think he could trust an unconscious person to stop drinking just because another person would die of blood loss just as surely as she would - and would she drown in the attempt? Looking to her knives, he gnawed on his own lip, absently. Did he think he could manage it without killing himself? He was tired, too.

Martin took one of the blades from the girl's selection, inspecting it carefully. Like all of the others, it was _very_ sharp. Unlike all of the others, it didn't seem to be magical in any way - many of her weapons seemed to be spelled to cause extra grief to any they were turned against. This one also didn't seem to have been used much, and when he sketched a rune for cleanliness over it, the rune showed pure and white.

It would have to do. Martin pressed the blade to his forearm, holding it steady above the girl's slow-beating heart.

He said a prayer to the Nine, then sliced open his own flesh.


	25. Chapter 25: Patient

**Author's Note: **Honestly, if Lyssi was a better fighter, maybe she wouldn't get into this kind of situation. She's really not. "Pointy end goes in the other guy, try not to get filled with pointy things yourself" is about the extent of it. On the other hand, she's really good at sneaking around and being invisible.

**Disclaimer: **The opinions expressed in this chapter are not medical advice and should not be used as such.

* * *

**Nobody Important **

_**Chapter Twenty-Five: Patient**_

_In which breathing is harder than it looks._

By: N3k0

* * *

The entire world was washed in blood. All around her, she could smell it, but whenever she went to try and drink, her stomach rolled and heaved. She was hungry ... she thought she was hungry, anyway. Pain and nausea warred with confusion.

There was an odd weight on her chest, and she pushed feebly at it, exhausting herself again. She drifted off into a fitful sleep, filled with demons and worse.

A woman's voice pierced the bloody haze, high and angry. "Of all the gods-cursed stupid - it's like that boy _wants_ to die, Roth!" The voice was vaguely familiar, in the sense that Lyssi thought she'd heard it at least once before. She would have rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, except for the weight on her chest, which kept her from rolling over.

A man's low rumble followed the woman's exclamation, but Lyssi couldn't hang on to whatever he was saying.

"Look at him!" Something shifted, dragging the weight off her chest. She tried to inhale, but something was wrong with her lungs. It was a good thing she didn't really need them. She'd been warm, before they dragged the weight off her - now she was cold. One red eye cracked open, and she tried to puzzle out where she was and what was going on. There was a tent over her head. That was ... important.

This time, the man's voice was audible to her. "The heir yet lives." A man of few words. Lyssi could respect that.

Everything was crimson, as she opened her eyes. Red tent poles, red tent, red people - three bodies, that she could tell. Two of them worked to settle in a third beside her. She tried to sit up, and was laid flat by some of the most intense pain she'd yet felt. A wheezing whine escaped her. At least when she'd burned alive, the nerves were destroyed first.

She hadn't gotten her left arm to move at all.

"Oh, you're awake." The woman's face suddenly filled her entire field of vision, and she blinked a couple of times. "You're very lucky to be alive."

Lyssi had a strange urge to laugh, but she couldn't breathe to force the air out.

"... Yes, well. It ... By the Nine." The woman's hand scraped across Lyssi's chest, and she was suddenly aware that she was essentially naked, save for the blood. "... Roth, is this ... ?" A flash of pain, as though the woman was poking at Lyssi's very heart with her fingertip. By Sithis, she would bite the finger _off_ if it was poking her heart. Right when she got the ability to breathe and move back. No ... wait, it was just the edges of ... a very large hole? Leading to her heart?

She strained to try and look down at it.

The world rolled, and she struggled to turn over, gagging.

The woman helped her. Blood leaked from her mouth and open wound, covering the ground under her. The wheezing whine escaped her again, she fumbled to try and hold herself off the ground, out of the sickly, brown-black mess.

"I would like to ask you some questions about your involvement in ... all this. But I think they can wait." The woman's voice was conversational, a man's strong hands took over with pulling Lyssi up to sitting at least. She had to rest most of her weight against him.

Her back hurt, too. She felt like a limp ragdoll, one whose every stitch was made of raw, unrefined _pain._

Lyssi lifted her right arm up, the fingers poking gently at the edges of the gaping abyss where skin should be. Every touch drew new agony from the wound. She didn't have enough magic left in her to try and mend it, even if she knew what all was wrong. Her eyes were fixed on the bottom edge, which was somewhere near her navel.

She made gasping, questioning noises. No, actually, she couldn't speak yet. Instead, she looked up and back, head rolling on a neck not able to support it. The Nord was pretty in a **food** sort of way, rather muscular with longish blond hair and hard features. He didn't seem phased by the damage. She made a quiet, whining noise instead. He didn't respond.

"It ah ... it looks like you were ... stabbed ... through the back. You're very injured, and the only healer in the camp with any juice left looks to have just passed out." The woman's voice was gentle, kind. It was almost maddening.

Lyssi had to get up, had to get to Anvil, there was - she had work to do. She couldn't be dying right now. She had to ... it was useless, she couldn't move on her own. Even as she tried to fight to get up, her body failed her completely. The man's hands gently lowered her back onto the bedroll. Even sticky and covered with blood, it was probably better than bare dirt.

She made feeble grabbing motions for her backpack - they'd brought her backpack at least.

The woman glanced at it. "We haven't gone through your things yet - I'll check later to see if there's anything we can use to help you. I'm ... Roth, do you have any idea what to do with ... this?" She gestured at Lyssi, helplessly. "I never ... I mean, we learned basic first aid, but ... _she should be dead._"

She drifted for a moment, losing her hold on the conversation thus far. Her dozing was interrupted by rough, calloused hands opening her eyelids for her, then opening her mouth and poking at her teeth. One of her fangs grazed a fingertip, and she sucked weakly on the digit trapped in her mouth. That was kind of humiliating, actually. "Such injuries do not kill the undead as they should," he seemed to be explaining. "This one is a vampire." The woman made a quiet noise that she couldn't be bothered to identify, and the man pulled his finger from Lyssi's mouth.

"It makes sense, I suppose ..."

They were going to kill her now, then. That was okay. She was okay with that. She let her eyes slide shut, and that was the last thing she knew.

* * *

She tried to sit up, some time later. Once again, she failed. She found that she'd been wrapped in bandages again, and her stomach had settled a bit.

A small child and a stuffed bear entered her field of vision. Everything was red, still. "Hullo. They say you're the _Hero_ who stopped all the demons so I wanted to say thank you." The girl stared down at her with wide, innocent eyes. Lyssi tried to speak, to say anything. A soft puff of air escaped her. It wasn't enough. "So um, thank you then."

Lyssi tried to use her right arm to drag herself to sitting. "I confess, I hadn't expected you to wake, or I might have discouraged the child." The man's voice was familiar, a little bit. The healer? "You really must rest."

"What's wrong, why can't the lady talk?" The child left her field of vision.

A silence fell over the tent, and Lyssi lost consciousness again.

* * *

"We should put it out of its misery," the woman's voice hissed. "You can't _prove_ it isn't affiliated with the Dawn, Martin. And it's not getting _better._ We can't stay here!"

She decided they probably didn't know she was awake. She pretended not to be.

The man sighed, keeping his voice level. "She saved all our lives, Ariel."

"It could be a ploy to gain your trust, Martin."

A third voice, the Nord, Lyssi thought. "We should question her, once she recovers."

"Why allow it time to recover? It's a monster, and I mean that in _every_ sense of the word! You saw the notes, you saw the knives - even if it _isn't_ affiliated with the Dawn, it's a hired killer and a vampire!" The woman paused to regain her composure. "We can't afford to stay in one place for very long, you _know_ that."

She wanted to speak for herself, but she couldn't. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she let her mind drift again.

If they were going to kill her, she'd rather they just got it over with.


	26. Chapter 26: Girl Talk

**Author's Note: **A little bit of research went into this. Fun times. Oh, oh! I plan to download Deadly Reflexes again! It's been an age, but I miss properly getting to kill people in their sleep, decapitations and such. And it's supposed to be compatible with MMM and OOO. Yay!

Because there's nothing better than getting jumped and killed when you're supposed to be the jumper-and-killer and such.

**IODH: **Not mine.

* * *

**Nobody Important **

_**Chapter Twenty-Six: Girl Talk**_

_In which a one-sided conversation is held._

By: N3k0

* * *

Tug, yank, snip.

There a pulling, dragging sensation slowly piecing her back together. Her chest was already a line of fine stitches that made her itch. That was what drug her back to consciousness when she was actually enjoying a dreamless sleep.

She still couldn't breathe.

Tug, yank, snip.

"You're lucky, you know that, right? _Incredibly_ lucky." It was the woman's voice, the one who wanted her dead. Ariel.

Tug, yank, snip.

She didn't seem to want a response, which was good, since Lyssi couldn't exactly form one. "That boy says that your ribs are mending. He put a slow healing on you, he says, one that should fix the broken bones in time. Your heart is whole. He doesn't have a spell to fill your lungs with air, but he seems to be planning _something."_

Tug, yank, snip.

"He thinks you're some kind of research project. He doesn't see what I see."

Tug, yank, snip.

The line of stitches seemed near the top of the injury. Maybe the woman would leave her alone then. She had to try to get up today. She'd wasted _enough_ time in this town.

Tug, yank, snip.

The woman fell silent for a long minute. Lyssi thought maybe she'd run out of things to say. She hadn't. "You're a monster. For all we know, you were _working_ with the Daedra. It isn't like we can ask you, now is it? How convenient. I could kill you, you know."

Tug, yank, snip.

"It's not like anyone really expects you to survive this, after all." If she was going to do it, she should just _do_ it already. Her right hand flexed, clenching and unclenching. The woman noticed it. "Awake, are you? Good. Can you speak?"

Tug. Yank. Snip. The woman took her silence as a no. "What a pity. Well, I'm done here. Can you sit up on your own?"

She tried. Her left arm still wasn't quite responding, but she pushed up with her right arm. She found herself back on the ground before she managed to get properly off of it. The woman helped her to sit upright. She felt all of her skin tugging at the stitches, but the thread - and her skin - held. "Good enough. Now, I need to ask you some questions." The woman began wrapping a thin roll of soft cloth around her chest. "Just nod or shake your head."

She was dizzy, and she didn't really want to answer the woman's questions. But she didn't think she really had a choice, so she bobbed her head once, dully.

"_Were_ you working with the Daedra?" Lyssi scowled. Oh yes, because any answer she gave to that question could be believed. Still, she shook her head. "I see. You are aware we've gone through your things?" She nodded, dully. Mraaj'Dar's ghost was probably laughing at her. "I need to know that you will not harm Martin." She turned her head enough that she could try and glance back at the woman. "You understand. If we are to believe the contents of those notes, you are a rather _accomplished_ murderer. Some kind of assurance ... are you able to write?"

Another sullen bob of her head.

"Then we will need to set you up with the tools to do so. I cannot allow a potential threat to go unaddressed." Ariel tied off the bandage expertly. "You understand, I'm sure." Her voice had iron in it.

Lyssi nodded.

Of course she understood.

* * *

"I don't like this, Ariel." Martin's voice sounded from outside the tent. Someone had changed Lyssi's bedroll out for one that wasn't covered entirely in blood. She supposed she probably should care about people getting infected, but it wasn't her job to worry about that, was it?

Not really. Martin would take care of that. If he didn't, Ariel would. Right? She was laying in the comfortable blankets, drifting. She hadn't managed to fall asleep again, but she'd had time to think. She hadn't really used that time, but that was mostly because she couldn't force herself to focus on anything. It was peaceful. If she tried to think, she'd think about how she was letting Lucien down. How she'd failed the ghosts of her Family. No, it was much better to let her mind drift. Some of the red had started to clear out of her vision.

She heard the woman - Ariel - heave a rather annoyed sigh. "We need to know the girl won't be a threat."

"You know as well as anyone that she can't be disturbed like this if we want her to recover." There was the rustle of the tent flap.

She noticed that the woman's voice seemed to go a bit shrill whens he was angry. That was funny. She'd laugh, if she could. But she couldn't. "Do we _want_ it to recover?"

The tent rustled and closed itself again. A man's strong hands gently brought her to sitting. She let her eyes open, and she saw the Nord's face. The arguing pair were still outside. She sat like a marionette with its strings cut, slumped half-over. It tugged and pulled at the stitches in her back, but she couldn't afford any strength. "Here, drink." The man placed something warm in front of her mouth, and she bit before she knew what she was doing. His hand. He made a quiet noise of pain, but otherwise didn't comment. She suckled on his skin, feeling a bit confused.

"You'll need your strength. Easy now." He pulled on his hand, and she let go after a moment. "Good girl."

The tent flap opened again, and her eyes fixed on the man and the woman entering. The woman placed a small board across her lap, and she shifted slightly. Ariel placed some paper, an inkwell, and a quill on the board. Lyssi looked down at it.

The woman offered a thin smile. But it was a smile, wasn't that a good thing?

No, not this smile.

"I need your name." Lyssi glanced over at Martin, who stood by the tent flap, arms folded.

She scratched it in, using lettering as precise as she could make it, given her shaking hands. _Alyssia._

The woman made a noise. "No last name, then?"

She shook her head. She didn't really need one, did she?

"All right. The letters that you carry, those belong to you?" She nodded. "And you understand the implications?"

_Why not just ask._

The woman glanced down at the paper, when Lyssi turned it for her to read it easier. "Ask ... ah. Well then. Are you an assassin?"

She nodded once. There wasn't really any point in lying. The woman took a sharp inhale.

"You understand that involvement in such matters is a crime, of course." Another nod. "How many ... no."

Lyssi took a mental tally, then wrote the number on the paper. _64._ The woman looked queasy. It had increased some from her last count. She frowned slightly, tracing a nonsensical design on the side of the board with a fingertip.

"... thanks, I think. Do you ... I ... do you have any plans to harm Martin Septim?" Ariel glanced back at the heir. Lyssi's eyes followed. She locked her gaze on the man, rather than the woman, shaking her head slowly. The man seemed relieved. The woman didn't catch the movement.

Lyssi sighed inwardly - of course she couldn't form the sound - and scratched down her reply on the paper. _I have no orders to._

The woman read it, a small frown on her lips. "What are your orders, then? Your _current_ orders, mind." She gnawed her lip, debating on how much to tell. "Don't lie to me. I can see you thinking about it, you know." Lyssi scowled again.

_Go to Anvil. Investigate. Not kill anyone._

She didn't add the 'yet' on the end. That much was already obvious, she figured.

"... Ah, I see. And retrieve the ..." She fished out one of the letters. "Reward, and next contract, there?"

Lyssi considered slightly. _Something like that._

The woman raised an eyebrow. "But not _exactly_ like that, then?"

A slight smile crossed her lips. _No, it isn't._

"... I see."

The woman fell silent for a moment, seeming to understand that was all the more Lyssi was going to tell her about it. It wasn't a comfortable silence. They were both waiting for something, that was what it felt like. Lyssi shifted a bit in place, dipping her quill into the inkwell. There was too much ink, so she tried scraping the tip off on the edge. She was fidgeting, wasting time. _I have to go._

"We're supposed to allow you to just leave, then? So you can kill again? It's illegal, what you do." The woman acted like she didn't know that, wasn't aware of it.

_I'm not really giving you a choice._


	27. Chapter 27: Only A Moment

**Author's Note: **I'm not sure if it's an _accomplishment_ to say that I have over a hundred mods now and the ground's still there. I feel accomplished though. Mostly because one time, it _wasn't _and I fell in the hole where it was supposed to be_._ You value the ground more when it disappears on you.

**IODH: **I want Skyrim! But Oblivion will tide me over 'til then.

* * *

**Nobody Important **

_**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Only A Moment**_

_In which real women don't wear dresses._

By: N3k0

* * *

Martin looked over the short, sparse lines that made up the girl's responses.

They were written in the shaky hand of someone who didn't have enough practice with the art to be comfortable with a quill, but they were direct, and legible.

He knew he should probably let her go. The girl was a curiousity, nothing more, and he had _responsibilities._ Still, he felt ... something. Worry, maybe. It gnawed at the back of his mind, dragged his thoughts toward an obviously dangerous woman ... who happened to be totally helpless in his tent. The biggest threat she'd presented him was the possibility of her disease spreading, and that was taken care of by simple cleansing spells.

And now she seemed intent on leaving, maybe without even saying goodbye.

He slid the note into a pocket, absently, frowning a bit to himself. He should be happy. Ariel would be, he was sure. They could repurpose the tent. The townspeople needed every resource they could get. He wouldn't have to waste the energy on keeping himself clean of the disease. He didn't _have_ to work out the puzzle of a collapsed lung - much less two.

He found himself idly watching the tent flap, only half-listening to one of the men complaining about his neighbor-and-current-tentmate, as a shimmering, transparent figure opened it, carrying a somewhat less transparent bundle of clothing inside.

Well then.

* * *

The mystery of how to put on clothing one-armed was a frustrating one to Lyssi, especially since she found her hands wouldn't quit shaking. The feral, hungry side of her insisted that she didn't even _need_ the dress, not really. No one need ever see her clothed only in the bandages, and if they did, she could just eat them and they'd die from that. Her modesty (which, that feral side of her was happy to remind her, was useless in the greater scheme of things) would be preserved.

She'd never known that animal instinct could be quite so eloquent.

Lyssi managed to pull the bottom of the garment over her head and slide her right arm through the sleeve. It had been a close thing. The injury continued to tug and pull, shooting white-hot pain through her entire body every time she so much as twitched. Walking across the camp and back had nearly killed her all over again, and the action of raising her arm above shoulder-height almost made her faint. Again.

She did not have _time_ for this.

"How badly did you drain yourself, casting that invisibility spell?" The man's voice was soft, from the tent flap. She smoothed the dress out as well as possible. It was too large for her, fitted for a woman with a figure somewhat more voluptuous than a sword blade. Her left arm continued to hang numb, pinned to her side under the dress. Eventually she'd have to figure that out, too. She looked back at Martin, turning slowly to avoid falling over. She actually hadn't succeeded in casting _any_ spells; she carefully tossed him an empty vial that had once contained invisibility potion. The stuff tasted foul, but it had saved her life more than once. "Ah," he said, catching the vial before it shattered on the ground. "I see."

He looked her over, then walked over to help her put her left arm into its sleeve. "You should be in bed ... well, I'm aware we don't have many actual beds available, but the point stands. You need to rest to heal." She shrugged slightly, leaning back into the healer's chest.

He was warm. When was the last time she'd been _warm?_ He placed his hands on her shoulders, steadying her. Before she could stop herself, she realized she was crying, tears escaping against her will. She wiped at her face, but she couldn't stop. He noticed it, too. Instead of pulling away, or worse, mocking her, he wrapped his arms around her, a soft, white light enveloping them. Some of the pain eased.

"I don't know exactly what happened to you, and I don't know what's waiting for you in Anvil." She could feel a hand running through her hair. It was soothing. She let her eyes fall closed for a moment. "But you can't keep pushing yourself. You're exhausted, and you're injured."

In that moment, she wanted to listen to him. Who cared about _duty_? The only family she'd ever loved was dead.

Slowly, she shook her head. She had to do this. She could rest after.

Now she just had to pull away.

Instead, she turned to rest her head on the man's chest. She could hear his heart beating, the quiet rhythm soothing her. She let her defenses drop, ignoring the little voice in the back of her head that reminded her this wouldn't end well; nothing ever did. She buried her face in the front of his robe, inhaling deeply. She remembered how he'd tasted, and she tried to remember why she shouldn't have another little sip. She couldn't think of any compelling reasons not to.

She leaned up. He was taller than her, too. She liked that.

"Ah ... that is, we shouldn't - you're injured - " She nipped his collarbone through the cloth of his robe.

Then, the reality of what she was about to do sank in, and she thrust herself away, embracing the pain of the action. Stupid, _stupid!_

She looked up at him, and it probably came off as a glare. She turned to gather her blades. Most of the straps were cut and worn, and her boots had been falling apart _before_ she went to face off with Oblivion on her own. She'd have to resupply in Anvil, too.

"What did I do?" He sounded genuinely confused. Good for him. "What's wrong?"

This would be so much easier if she had the full use of both hands. In frustration, she thrust most of the weapons into her pack. Only her belt - and by extension, her belt knife - was any good to her right now, and even that was worn. Nothing was wrong with the blades, but she had nowhere to hide them on her person. The backpack's enchantment would cover their weight.

If not for that enchantment, when she slung the pack up over her shoulder, she was sure it would have crippled her. The pain of it made her gasp, which in turn made her wheeze a bit. She was sure her chest was leaking, though she wouldn't tell _him_ that.

Not like she could.

Brushing past the healer, ignoring his confusion, she stormed out of the tent, narrowly missing the Breton.


	28. Chapter 28: Gossip

**Author's Note: **I don't really plan to incorporate the fighter's guild or mage's guild quest lines much at all.

Especially since I've only done the mage's guild quests up to a given point, and nothing whatsoever from the fighter's guild.

Long chapter is a go.

**Disclaimer:** Bethesda owns everything, we all just rent.

* * *

**Nobody Important **

_**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Gossip**_

_In which not much happens._

By: N3k0

* * *

"What was that about?" Ariel raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking toward the tent flap.

Martin sighed, disgusted with himself. And for what? He hadn't actually done anything wrong. "Nothing."

"I see. It looked like something, to me." She folded her arms, watching him with a level expression. There was ice in her pale blue eyes. "Tell me about it."

The Nord pushed open the tent flap. He was a towering bear of a man, and he had to duck to fit inside the tent that fit its other occupants more easily. "The vampire is leaving the camp." He fell silent again after making the report, somehow making the half-hunched pose look _almost_ dignified.

Ariel glanced back at the Nord. "Ah." Her eyes returned to Martin, and she waited for him to speak.

* * *

She knew she was being followed. It had started sometime after midnight, she thought. Worse, the person - or people - trailing her made better time than she was. They kept out of sight, but every so often the wind would shift, and she'd catch a sound or a scent to let her know they were still there, just around the bend.

There wasn't really much she could do about it though - placing one foot in front of the next took all of her strength, and she saw gray, flickering shadows at the edges of her vision almost constantly. Despite that, the roads were empty, save herself and her tail. Just before sunrise, she found herself at a little inn. Anvil stood proudly, just down the road, but she couldn't make it if she tried. She felt like she had lead in her bones, weighing her down. Every movement was sluggish, and she rested her forehead on the door briefly, before opening it.

The door creaked loudly, and her ears pinned back.

"Oh, hello!" A woman in a blue velvet dress walked up to her, smiling a predator's smile. Lyssi matched in kind, waiting for her eyes to fully adjust. "Are you a, ah ..." The woman caught sight of her bare toes. Even her feet had been more-or-less covered in bandages, though they were a bit dirtier than they'd started out, now. Her gaze skimmed up Lyssi's form, apparently trying to read her. For her part, Lyssi closed the door and leaned back against it, watching for any wrong move from the too-friendly stranger. "Hm. Are you a traveling merchant, perhaps?" The woman seemed like she didn't believe that possibility, though her eyes lingered on Lyssi's heavy-looking backpack. Lyssi glanced down at the thing, herself. Once inside, she'd dropped it to the floor.

She nodded anyway, despite herself. A traveling merchant, maybe one that fell on hard times, that would be a passable cover, anyway. "Oh, you are?" The woman's eyes lit up, and suddenly the lie seemed ill-advised. Lyssi would need to watch this woman. "Aren't you worried, what with all of the attacks?"

Attacks? Lyssi raised an eyebrow. "You haven't heard? There's a killer on the loose, one who targets helpless merchants traveling the road to Kvatch. I would be ever so afraid, were I you."

Oh yes. The woman had _heard_ it.

Lyssi tried to think of a way to express her need for a bed - preferably in a room with a strong lock, maybe a dresser she could use as a barricade - without using language. The woman continued speaking, oblivious. Apparently she didn't really need any input from her prey. "If you really want to stay here, you can talk to the publican, he's sleeping downstairs yet. Be careful now!"

She took the woman's appearance in, so if she happened to come across her in the road, she'd be able to steer well clear. A bad liar, this woman was blonde, and much taller than Lyssi was - probably an Altmer, given the ears. If she was an Altmer, then she'd be magically inclined. The woman didn't have the muscles or calluses from weapons-work to be anything else, and the high elves did, as a rule, prefer magic, didn't they?

In order to purchase a room, Lyssi first had to wake up the publican, which involved poking him in the side a bit. Then she had to get him to understand what she wanted, which involved a small game of charades and an exchange of coin that took more time than she wanted it to. Especially since she had to point out that she was literally incapable of speech ... though she left the exact reason out, not that he'd be able to guess unless she outright showed him the injuries.

By the time she was done getting the room, she was wrung out and exhausted. She closed the door, setting her pack down beside it, and slid down to slump against the solid wood. The last dregs of her energy went to finding a potion in her packs, pulling the cork out with her teeth, and drinking it. Setting the vial aside, her eyes slid closed. Probably, she should have stayed back at the camp.

* * *

A flash of pain, white-hot and searing, through her chest.

It was a stirring, half-waking, half-sleeping. She bit into a delicious chunk of meat, stolen from a nobles' feast, but the insides were crawling with maggots. The maggots crawled into her mouth, and ate her way out of her stomach.

A flash of pain.

She held a single septim in her hands, her last coin. As she watched, it turned to ash. Her hands hurt, throbbing and sore, until her fingers began to rot away.

A flash.

Digging, clawing her way up through a grave, the coffin collapsed in under the weight of soil. She inhaled dirt, coughed and choked, her chest heaving with gargantuan effort. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't breathe - she forgot she didn't need to, thrashing wildly at earth that may as well have been stone for all she could move it.

Pain.

* * *

Lyssi woke, dotted with sweat, some time later. Her eyes fluttered open, and she felt herself struggling, once again, to try and breathe. She'd kept herself in the habit, so if she needed to, she could talk. Now, the effort made her entire chest throb with pain. She hadn't slept very long, but no one had entered her room, for once. She let herself drift, eavesdropping on the conversations downstairs.

She could distantly hear voices. A male voice, familiar, chatted softly with a female - the woman in blue velvet. The woman laughed at something or other, and it sounded polite rather than amused.

That woman would be a problem. Lyssi would eat someone's boot - since she didn't currently have any of her own - if that woman was genuinely concerned for her well-being. That meant she was probably the attacker, which meant that Lyssi would have to deal with the mage one way or the other, preferably before she headed to Anvil. Her ideas basically boiled down to 'wait for the mage to sleep, then drain her.' She'd probably leave the woman alive - did she still have any disease-curing salves? She didn't want to create a _vampire_ mage ... it might be safer to just kill the woman.

She didn't have any particular qualms about doing so, but ... some part of her wanted to prove she wasn't really a monster anymore. That she could be a good person, now.

Of course, she had no idea what a 'good' person acted like. That was a bit of a problem, but she was fairly sure good people didn't kill others just because they were inconvenient. Maybe just a sleeping drug? She was hungry, ravenous even, that was part of the problem.

"... hear about Cheydinhal?" Lyssi's ears perked up a bit at the mention of her home. Sithis save her ...

A male's response, too soft to hear.

The woman continued. Her voice carried well, piercing the thin wood walls easily. "I heard that an entire clan of vampires stormed the city. They killed several guards and a few civilians, and then they got away. Nobody has seen them since, but everyone is on alert for suspicious, nighttime activity. They've even called on professional vampire hunters. Did you ever hear of such a thing?"

The man said something else, but Lyssi still couldn't quite make it out, nor did she care to.

She wouldn't be able to sleep now. What would happen if she was caught by vampire hunters in her sorry state? She felt drawn and tired.

Part of her wondered, dully, what it would be like to die, as she let her eyes drift closed.

The next pair of voices were much closer, tugging her awake before she'd properly fallen asleep.

"Roth, you _didn't."_ The woman sounded genuinely worried, and there was a rustle of chain armor, a thump. Then, a sloshing, liquid noise. The woman heaved a heavy sigh. "That girl isn't one of your strays, you _have_ to know that. She'll savage you, just like the wolf did that one time, just like the falcon did."

The man's rumble didn't seem terribly concerned. "You cannot blame an animal for its nature."

"You nearly lost your eye!" There was a pause, and vague sounds Lyssi couldn't quite make out. "All right, all right. I can accept the animals. And you did take care of the housecat, even if it turned out to be a Khajiit in disguise, whatever! The puppies all found decent homes. But this girl _had_ a choice. She - _it_ - chose to be a killer. It _chose_ to be a monster."

Lyssi liked animals, too. The Nord rose even higher in her estimation. She'd never been able to keep a pet, but she wanted to. Maybe after this last job.

"Did she have a choice?" Roth's voice held a challenging tone. She didn't really understand why he was defending her, though she appreciated it. It was futile, of course. Ariel was right, and more importantly, she believed she was right. "Do you know her so well?"

There was a long silence. Lyssi found herself drifting off, before the woman's quiet, almost haunted voice brought her back.

"You know what her kind did to my family. You - you've seen my scars."

Suddenly, Lyssi didn't want to hear any more.

"That girl has scars of her own."

Another silence, though not as long.

"I don't trust her."

The man sighed. "I never said you should."

"I'll take first watch. That potion should return some of your strength, but try to get some rest, all right?" The sound of a door opening, then closing again.

The man's voice rumbled through the wall. "Good night, little one."

Had he known she could hear them?


	29. Chapter 29: Headway

**Author's Note:** Things are actually picking up. Hooray!

Is it just me, or are the lines kind of twitchy about actually staying in place?

Apparently Ariel (and variations on the theme) is a pretty common Breton name. There are two Arielle Jurard's in Oblivion, after all ... of course, one of them's dead.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own much of anything.

* * *

**Nobody Important**

_**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Headway**_

_In which an arrival occurs._

By: N3k0

* * *

He had honestly been only half-listening to the pretty Altmer chatting about this and that since sundown, waiting for the assassin to reappear. When Caminalda wasn't talking his ear off, she seemed content to direct her chatter to a mousy, brown-haired woman who never seemed all that interested, or the publican himself, a world-weary looking man with old weapon callouses.

Martin tried to convince himself that his fascination with the assassin - "Alyssia" - was entirely due to his curiosity as a scholar first, and a healer besides. That was at least partly true - she was the first vampire he'd ever met. Or at least, the first that he'd _known_ about. She didn't look any different from a normal elf, really, except for the fangs, and he wondered how many of her kind blended in with normal society. He wondered a great many things about vampires, and he'd never found many answers. Unlike the daedra he'd studied in his youth, those afflicted with porphyric hemophilia tended to keep to themselves, and information about them was scarce.

The girl's resilience was also fascinating, especially as a healer. He knew she should be dead - and yet she kept moving, kept pushing her body beyond any reasonable limits.

That was also a cause for concern. As a healer, he hated to see his patients die, and that was a real concern, especially since the girl wouldn't allow herself to rest. He'd never had a patient who was so badly injured that he feared she'd collapse at any moment ... that he literally _could not_ restrain. Nine help him, but he'd never had one in such dire straits that _needed_ restraining.

Despite his intent to keep his interest purely academic, however, he had to admit there was something mesmerizing about those eyes, and he was curious about the vulnerable way she held herself, the regret he could see in her expression. The eyes, though, especially fascinated him - he remembered them being green in his room, but now they were stained crimson. What did that mean? Was it a side effect of the injury, of her curse, or something else? He wondered if even she had all the answers he wanted.

Wait ... had they been green in his room? He remembered ... something about claws. There was something about that.

Every time he tried to remember that encounter clearly, he found the details eluded him. This time was no exception, but he let it go. Surely he'd get a chance to ask her himself soon.

He caught the glimmer of light twisting around an invisible form only because he was looking for it - the invisibility potion was quite good. The girl slipped out past a real merchant, unnoticed by anyone else. Martin caught Hrothmund's eyes, then glanced at the door. The nord nodded, walking quietly upstairs to rouse his partner. How the Blade managed that feat, given his size, Martin would never know. He expected it took years of training, though.

As Martin gathered his few possessions, the Altmer immediately struck up a conversation with the merchant. He shook his head, wondering if the woman even talked in her sleep.

The dark elf merchant glanced down, frowning as he patted down his sides. Then, he looked up at the Altmer, scowling. "Thief!" He pointed at her, one bony finger jabbing at Caminalda's chest. Martin paused, watching the conflict.

The woman's expression darkened for a moment before taking on an indignant cast. She held her hands up for the man to see, and they were empty. "I would never!" She sounded hurt, but ... there was something off about the situation. Martin glanced toward the stairs. Ariel stood there, Roth towering behind her. The Breton woman had her arms folded, a scowl on her face. The Nord had one hand on the heavy axe strapped to his back.

The Bosmer was already long gone.

"My wallet is missing! I had it just a minute ago when I walked in, and now it's gone! You took it, you fetcher!"

The woman's eyes narrowed. She took a step back, and Martin had just enough time to cover his own face before the Altmer loosed a punishing blast of cold, turning the interior of the small inn into a miniature blizzard, complete with harsh winds and blinding snow. Given the whirlwind surrounding the Altmer, it would be hard to catch her - obviously, that was her plan.

The merchant was frozen solid.

Ariel took a step forward, fingers flexing, a sickly red light dancing across them. Behind her, Roth drew the menacing battle-axe.

Before either of them could act, however, a loud crack sounded, and the Altmer fell to her knees, her eyes unfocused. "I believe you have your suspect, Miss Jurard." The publican pointed at the collapsed Altmer with the heavy-looking mace he'd smashed across the back of her head.

A mousy, brown-haired woman that Martin hadn't paid much attention to before flashed a smile to the publican, then turned her attention to Martin and his Blades. "Were any of you injured?"

Martin shook his head, and Roth followed suit. Ariel responded with a simple, "No."

"This is Mage's Guild business, do you understand?"

He glanced over to the Blades, then toward the door. "Honestly, ma'am, we were just leaving. Unless you need us as witnesses, we really must be going."

The woman sighed, and shook her head. "I suppose not. Just ... keep this to yourselves, for now, if you would?"

"Yes, of course."

* * *

Lyssi smiled to herself at the distant sounds of a commotion. A hundred coins richer, the murderous Altmer dealt with, _and_ she'd slowed down her tail.

She liked the priest well enough ... and that alone was a good reason to keep him out of her business, him and his Blades. She wasn't sure how to handle what she'd learned about the angry Breton woman, and she didn't think she wanted to face the Nord knowing that he knew she'd been eavesdropping.

Hopefully when they realized they lost her, they'd head north to Chorrol and forget about her.

She made her way to Anvil under the cover of darkness, slipping inside the city gates past a sleepy-looking guardsman. Everything was so ... normal. Did they even know what had happened just up the road? She took a moment to listen to the sounds of the port city. She could hear hundreds of people going about their nightly routines. The smell of salt water and the reek of fish was so strong she could taste it, without even needing to sniff the air.

She was to find a pond with a statue in it. Behind the statue, there was a barrel, and inside she was supposed to find her next dead drop, and the reward for killing the Listener.

Hopefully she'd gotten here in time.

Hopefully, she'd catch the traitor here, and reward _him_. She was eager to meet the faceless menace who had caused her so much heartache. She had several knives she wanted to show him, wicked, cruel blades that she'd use to draw out his torment as long as she could manage.

It would all be over soon.

Just to make sure, she opened the barrel and checked inside.

A neat, tidy package rested at the bottom, her name scrawled on the front.

_No._


	30. Chapter 30: Following A Lead

**Author's Note:** This last week was really pretty busy. But now it's over! Oh, and this is the kind of thing having a luck stat approaching 100 causes. Well no. Luck doesn't have any effect on events.

I feel like I could rename this entire story "Lyssi wakes up in strange places every couple of chapters" and it'd be just as accurate. Kindness of strangers, don'tcha know.

**Disclaimer:** You're still here? There's like twenty-nine chapters worth of these. Pfeh.

* * *

**Nobody Important**

_**Chapter Thirty: Following A Lead**_

_In which a conversation conveniently concludes concerns._

By: N3k0

* * *

Lyssi felt the wood between her fingers splinter and crack, shards of the barrel embedding themselves into her right hand and drawing blood.

_No._

If she kept denying it, her eyes squeezed tightly, maybe it wouldn't be true.

She opened them again. The package remained. She let go of the edge of the barrel, reaching down into it to pick up the oddly-light parcel.

She sat heavily on the decorative ledge that surrounded the base of the statue, stripping the paper from the box with her teeth. Empty. It was empty, except the letter, a hollow congratulations and _another_ target. Did the traitor mean to kill every last Dark Brother and Sister in all Cyrodiil? It seemed so - the note mentioned a woman named Arquen.

Numb.

She was numb, all over, and so, so tired. This was it then.

She hadn't even gotten paid.

Lucien would be killed. Hells, but she wouldn't be far behind. Too many people wanted her dead, and she didn't really care if they succeeded anymore.

Her eyes felt a bit wet, and red clouded her vision.

She was just so tired.

A man's quiet voice brought her attention back to the present.

"You're looking for Enilroth, aren't you?"

Lyssi looked up and over, her eyes settling on the old Dunmer. She nodded once. Enilroth?

The old Dunmer smiled gently at her. "He's been coming around this statue for a couple of days now, acting guilty. I thought he'd gotten caught up in something ... well, nevermind. I certainly hadn't expected the boy to ... ah, Nine help me. I didn't think he _liked_ girls, you understand."

She nodded once, reaching up to rub at her eyes. Blood?

She was crying?

"Ah, here now, don't cry." She ducked her head, letting her hair cover her face as she wiped at her eyes. She couldn't let him see the dark crimson smear. "If you like, I can fetch him for you ... oh, where are my manners. I'm Enilroth's master, Varel Morvayn. I am the smith here in town." The dark elf sat beside her, resting his hand on her shoulder. The absurdity of it was almost enough to make her laugh.

Lyssi wiped her hands off on the dress, thankful she'd stolen a red outfit. She smiled up at the man, uncertainly.

"Shy then? I don't bite, I promise. Say - I haven't seen you around Anvil before, are you new in town?" She nodded once, gesturing vaguely at her throat. "Ah, I see."

She looked either way, feeling slightly guilty. She thought she might have just enough power ... it felt wrong. The smith was being so _nice_ to her ... She reached up, uncertainly, then retracted her hand, shaking her head. No, she wouldn't make him tell her.

He gave her a long, odd stare, before speaking again. "Look, you seem like a good kid, and I wouldn't feel right leaving you out here. If you like, you can stay at my shop for the night, all right?" He forced a smile, and she relaxed some, smiling back. "There's a good girl." He stood, holding his hand out to her. She took it, following suit.

There was an odd roaring in her ears as she stood up, and her vision grayed out around the edges. She didn't remember anything after that.

* * *

She woke to a strange bed, in a strange room, feeling as though her skin were on fire. She opened her mouth in a silent cry of pain, covering her face with a thin blanket to protect it. A voice she didn't recognize greeted her. "I didn't know what you would want for breakfast so I brought you some - hello? Are you all right?"

She drew the blanket up, holding it like a makeshift cloak, the corner dangling in her face. Her skin felt tight where the sunlight had fallen on it, and she peered out from under the blanket at the other Bosmer. He looked young, barely out of boyhood himself.

Her eyes caught his, and his eyes went wide. The tray of food fell to the ground with a loud crash, and he scrambled out of the room, screaming incoherently. "Monster! Monster! Varel! Come quickly! Monster! There's a monster in the bedroom!"

She rubbed at her face, trying to return feeling to it.

There was some juice, and some bread and meat on the floor, so, after wrapping the blanket about herself properly, she stood and looked around. Apparently the smith had made her a bedroll at the base of his bed, raising a question or two in her mind of where the apprentice slept. Probably he stayed at the inn or something.

Oh, hellfire. The apprentice was the boy Enilroth, and she had to try and talk to him, didn't she?

Lyssi spotted her backpack in the corner of the room, the torn package sitting neatly beside it. She collected the package with deft fingers, careful to let no errant beam of sunlight near her skin. Then, she picked her way across the floor, careful not to step on any broken ceramics or now-soggy bread. Hopefully the apprentice didn't expect her to clean ... oh, who was she kidding, he was probably breaking out the torches pitchforks as she worked her way stiffly down the hall. Cleanup was the least of her worries.

"That is a _woman,_ not a monster, and our guest besides. Be polite." The smith's voice came from downstairs.

Enilroth sounded a bit out of breath. "But Master - she ... she's a ... "

The old man seemed ... calm, she decided. "A vampire?" He laughed a bit. "My dear boy, the girl is a bit pale, that's _it._ Vampires aren't real, and whoever told you otherwise is filling your head with lies. Now, you go back up there, and apologize. I have to watch the shop."

"But Master - she ... her eyes, and ... and she ..."

Lyssi stood at the top of the stairs now, and she could see the balding Dunmer smith shake his head. "If you're that concerned about some red eyes, you must be just _terrified_ of me. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if the girl was a halfbreed, but a vampire? Ridiculous. Go talk to her. You'll see she's perfectly normal, if a bit malnourished."

"Yes Master."

The boy trudged up the stairs, looking apprehensive, and she wished she didn't have a good reason for him to be so.

_I'm sorry._

She reached out and grabbed his arm.

His scream died before it ever reached his lips.


	31. Chapter 31: Bloodlust

**Author's Note:** Only a month 'til Skyrim! Better get cracking on this!

**Disclaimer:** OM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM.

* * *

**Nobody Important**

_**Chapter Thirty-One: Bloodlust**_

_In which bad ideas taste good._

By: N3k0

* * *

_Stay quiet, follow me._

Lyssi kept her focus on the other Bosmer as she gently tugged him away from the staircase, toward a side door she'd noticed before. His eyes were wide, and he'd become almost as pale as she was, but he didn't speak. He couldn't speak. She made sure of that, focusing every bit of her power on that one thought.

_Stay quiet, follow me._

She sat him down on a barrel in what appeared to be a storage room, then shuffled her backpack off of her shoulder. She'd been expecting the torches and pitchforks response, and she'd expected to have to flee. It landed with a heavy thump, the thin blanket following. She fished the dead drop out of her pack, holding it up for the boy to see.

Enilroth became as pale as the white-gold tower of the Imperial City, trembling so badly that it shook the barrel he sat on. He recognized the package. She could taste his fear in the air, and it took too much work to convince herself she didn't enjoy it. The predator inside her knew the scent of an easy kill.

She split her attention now, letting the boy speak if he chose to - she scratched letters into the air, light following her fingertips.

_"Who gave you this."_ The boy's suspicious activity was too recent. Combined with, his age, his raw terror - he was prey, not predator. He wasn't the traitor, he wasn't even a Brother. He had never taken a life, she was as sure of that as she was her own name. He was shaking almost violently, now.

"I'm... I'm sorry!" The boy barely got the words out past his terror. She raised an eyebrow, gesturing for him to continue. "I didn't mean to do anything wrong ... it ... it was the robed man!"

The traitor. She grinned to herself. _Finally._

Enilroth was apparently encouraged by her smile. Maybe he was just terrified - probably, he was just terrified. "He... he paid me to put those things in the barrel. The ... the coins, I still have them, if ... I mean, I meant to ... please don't hurt me?" The boy swallowed heavily.

_"The man."_ Let the boy think she'd kill him if he didn't tell her more. It was almost amusing.

"I don't know his name, and his face was in shadow. He called to me yesterday as I walked by the lighthouse. I think he lives there ... o-or he did, anyway? I don't know. He ... He told me he was leaving Anvil. I'm sorry, but that's all I know!"

Leaving. Her grin became a scowl. The traitor had slipped out of her grasp because she was weak. She felt her fingers flex. Because of the demons, and the priest-turned-heir, and her gods-cursed festering wounds, she hadn't been fast enough to intercept the traitor.

And now she was forced to wait _another_ day ... she found herself pacing, trying to think of a way to protect herself from the sunlight.

There was nothing for it. She'd have to investigate this lighthouse, but she was confined to the smithy until the sun set. "You're ... you are, aren't you?" The boy sounded nervous still, but also curious. For the moment, she'd forgotten he was still there - of course, she stood between him and the door.

She glanced over at him, scratching her response into the air. The light flickered, shimmering into - and out of - existence, dying mere moments after she'd finished writing. She was almost out of magic. _"Are what."_

"A - a vampire. You really are a vampire, aren't you?" He sounded more curious than afraid, now. Suddenly, she wished she'd thought to bind him. Something about his curiousity unsettled her. He wasn't afraid enough for that kind of a revelation. She nodded once, hesitantly. "You're nothing like I thought you'd be. You're real pretty and ... well, you don't have wings, or ... or claws, or cloven feet or anything. You're practically a real person."

_Pretty?_ She raised an eyebrow, tilting her head to the side, folding her arms - or well, folding her right arm over her chest. Her left arm still hung limply.

He leaned forward. "What's it like? When you bite people, I mean. You - do still, you know, bite people, right?" She frowned slightly. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't fed recently. She thought she might be on the mend - she no longer felt sick just thinking about food. "In all the stories and everything, I mean ... that is ... they all say it feels ... um."

In fact, she could go for a bite after all. She smiled, making sure he could see her teeth.

He swallowed heavily, and she put a finger to his lips.

Then she leaned forward, tugging his head gently to the right. She lapped at his throat, feeling his pulse jump under her careful ministrations. He would enjoy this, she'd make sure of it.

She had enough control for that, at least, didn't she?

Her fangs were razor sharp - she knew it didn't hurt when she applied just a little pressure, but already he was bleeding. He was _so_ nervous, and his heart beat _so_ quickly. She let herself enjoy his fear, licking at the tiny wounds she'd made. Just a taste, before the main course.

The boy actually moaned quietly. She _knew_ he'd enjoy it.

She sank her fangs in again, this time a bit deeper, blood shooting into her mouth when she suckled ever so gently at the wounds. It tasted like she imagined ambrosia might. Hunger always had been the best spice, and she hadn't realized how starved she'd let herself become. She felt the blood knitting her injuries back together. The boy wouldn't miss the little blood she needed to survive, she reasoned - only, some rational part of her pointed out, she'd taken far more than she normally did.

She ignored that rational part. Her left arm joined her right in holding the boy still - he didn't seem to be able to hold himself upright anymore.

The door slammed open, and she heard steel scrape on steel.

"That's enough, I think."


	32. Chapter 32: Poking Holes

**Author's Note:** Job keeps changing up on me. 's screwy.

This story. More platonic nudity than a public shower.

So, happy NaNoWriMo, everybody. It's almost over, I hope you guys did more than I did with it. Work kept me from writing a lot, and definitely from posting.

I may/may not have lied in one of my earlier author's notes, you guys get to spot the lie itself. (It'll become obvious later on.)

Skyrim is bloody amazing. I have no words. Actually I have a lot of words, and all of them good. I will be writing a fic for it eventually, and it will be a continuation of this one ... somewhat indirectly.

**Disclaimer:** You know this part already.

* * *

**Nobody Important**

_**Chapter Thirty-Two: Poking Holes**_

_In which inflations are deflated._

By: N3k0

* * *

Sated, the bestial instinct subsided completely, leaving Lyssi alone with the horror of what she'd almost done. A strangled, choked-off noise escaped her, and she pressed her left hand to the boy's throat, white light suffusing the injury.

Did she have any healing potions left? The liquid did wonders to restore lost blood - no, damn it, she'd used the last one after Ungolim.

She glanced back at the smith, panic filling her. Unthinking, she shot a Command back at the Dunmer.

_Find a healer, quickly!_

Why did she immediately think of Martin?

The Dunmer raised an eyebrow, lowering his weapon. Didn't he understand that time was of the essence?

"Well, then."

The man paused for another long moment, then sheathed his sword. "I'll have you know, I've shaken off worse Commands from more powerful beasts than you, girl." He shook his head slightly, as though clearing cobwebs from it. "As it happens, I keep a store of healing potions in case of emergency. If my apprentice dies before I return, you will live _just_ long enough to regret what you've done. That's a promise."

He left her there, the young Bosmer cradled to her chest, for what felt like hours. She had more than enough time for it to fully sink in that she could actually use her left arm again, though she still couldn't really breathe. There was a ... pressure. She felt like she was holding a breath, only she couldn't exhale, either.

The smith returned moments before she was sure the apprentice would have died, bearing a heavy-looking case that she thought read "First Aid."

Inside the case, she spotted a number of small, labeled vials, a roll of bandages, and a couple of scrolls. She couldn't make anything else out from where she stood. The Dunmer retrieved three vials from the case, then carefully placed them against his apprentice's lips, one by one, making sure not even a drop was wasted.

"Have you ever considered a career in medicine? There's a good girl, help me carry him back to his room." Lyssi did as commanded, relieved to realize her strength was returning enough that she didn't need any help. The smith carried his "First Aid" kit, instead.

"I forgot how strong even a little thing like you could be, with your ... condition." The smith inspected the boy's neck, and Lyssi stepped back, away from the bed. It was a nice room, with heavy drapes. Of course, a smith could afford the best.

"As I suspected, the wounds are already closed. He'll need rest, but he should recover." The Dunmer patted his apprentice's shoulder, fondly. "As for you ..."

He turned to look at her, and she felt her gaze immediately drop to the floor. "Nine, it would almost be a mercy to put you out of your misery, I think." Her head snapped up, and her eyes narrowed. Mentally, she dared him to try it. "Perhaps not. You can't speak?" She shook her head, once again making the vague throat-gesture that generally seemed to communicate her problem. "Was it recent?" She blinked, blinked again. What? She nodded slowly.

"I don't actually see any throat injuries - " the smith touched his own eyes for a moment, and she felt the low thrum of magic in the air. Then, he gently tilted her head from side to side. "Your Sire was a vicious brute, wasn't ... he? He." Callused fingers skimmed against the old scar. Experience told her that soon, it would be the only one left. The others - more recent - would likely fade quickly, if she got a chance to rest and heal fully. In response to his question, however, she could only nod.

Vicente wasn't a beast, but then, he had never bitten her.

Tears welled up unbidden.

Vicente was gone. She'd killed him.

"Focus dear, crying never helped anyone. What happened? Was it a piercing wound?" She nodded again, rubbing at her eyes.

"Ah, may I see?"

Lyssi bit her lip, glancing over at Enilroth's sleeping form. "Dear, you haven't got anything I haven't seen before and frankly, if the boy hasn't, then he could use the education." The smith gave her a long look. "None of you Bosmer women have much up top anyway. Show me."

After a long moment's deliberation, she obeyed. Slipping her arms out of the sleeves caused the dress to fall about her waist, held there only by the belt.

This garnered another long stare. "You know, I've seen worse, but it's been years. Those bandages need to be changed at the very least. Let me see." She almost jumped out of her skin when he came at her with a knife, but he was all business, cutting the cloth away with practiced ease and inspecting her injuries with a surgeon's critical eye. She noticed he wore thin leather gloves, just as Jauffre had, and was startled to spot an old bite wound on his forearm.

"I've done things I'm not proud of. I've seen good men die, and put more than a few of them down myself." She felt a pinching under her ribs, and decided she'd rather not look at what he was doing. "I'd guess you're a fledgling - less than a century?"

A rush of air escaped her chest - wasn't the problem that she couldn't take any air in?

She nodded, though he couldn't see it.

"Most vampires in your position would have dropped the boy to deal with me. They would have had to - fighters need their hands free, and it's a very, very rare mage who can cast without sound or gesture. But you ..." The smith dabbed a cold liquid against the hole he just made, and continued. "You are such a mage. But the order, 'Find a healer.'" He paused for a moment. "Try to inhale, please." She was startled to realize she could.

Inhale, exhale.

Breathing.

She was breathing!

"Good girl. How long have you been a vampire?"

She worked her jaw, taking a few practice breaths before replying. "Year?" She could speak! Her voice was all gritty, and she'd all-but forgotten how, but she could speak!

"You have remarkable control for a year-old fledgling. Military?"

She shook her head, then added a, "No," at the end, just because she could.

"Ah, well. Who was that boy you pictured? He must be important to you." The smith wrapped a fresh roll of bandages around her chest, fastening them in place with an odd metal clip. It looked a bit like a small butterfly.

"I ... that is ..."

The smith stood fully again, peeling off the gloves with some care. "Try not to blush, it wastes blood." He rubbed a clear gel between his hands. It smelled like alcohol; she wrinkled her nose. "And don't make faces. Basic sanitation prevents the spread of diseases like yours."

She took a moment to try and process what he was saying. "How do ..." She trailed off, unsure how to continue.

"How do I know all this? Dear girl, I've been hunting vampires longer than I'd wager you've been alive."


	33. Chapter 33: Mesmerizing

**Author's Note:** On the other hand, I can still write in a notebook. It's pretty spiffy. Anyway.

This one's pretty long. *Smashes a bottle against a ship.* And we're off! On a magical journey!

**Disclaimer:** Given the Scrolls lawsuit this might actually need to be said. Oblivion is a game. This work is a loose adaptation of that game, translated into text. I have no affiliation with Bethesda. Please don't sue me, I'm sure people can tell the difference.

* * *

**Nobody Important**

_**Chapter Thirty-Three: Mesmerizing**_

_In which the vampiric condition is quite enthralling._

By: N3k0

* * *

If the Dunmer had wanted her dead, she wouldn't have lived to see the sunrise, painful as it may have been. That thought kept her calm when every instinct shrieked for her to run.

"Why stop?" She asked, instead.

The smith frowned ever so slightly. "What makes you think I _have,_ fledgling?"

"I'm alive."

He nodded slowly. "There is that. Should I kill you, then? I would be within my rights, to kill a vampire in my own home, one who's hurt a mortal even." For emphasis, he gestured at the Bosmer on the bed. "The guard wouldn't care - not one person would so much as bat an eyelash, not when they saw those fangs. Would _anyone_ mourn your passing? That boy, maybe?" She tried not to show her hurt. He was testing her, poking at her weak points. She looked down and away, ashamed she couldn't maintain her composure.

"I'll take your silence as a no."

She swallowed heavily. "I don't want to die. Not yet." She was surprised to realize it was true. She had work yet to do. Even if she didn't - even though her family was dead, even though that left a gaping wound where her heart should be, she _wanted_ to heal. "I don't." She wanted to see Martin again, and even his Blades intrigued her.

"Should I care what you want?" He pointed at her with the blade he'd used on her bandages, expression cold. She shook her head slowly. "... Well, I do."

Her gaze snapped back to his face, she stared at him in confusion. "Fledgling ... not one person in this world will show you kindness. Most won't even show you mercy - not if they know who you are, _what_ you are." He shook his head, sounding ... almost sad? "Most would kill you without a second thought, but you - just by your actions, you have proven you are a thinking, feeling_ person._ You, like everyone else, have the choice to do good. Should you be slain, just because your condition makes the choice harder?"

Lyssi frowned again. "So, you _don't_ hunt vampires."

Something about what she said must have been funny; he laughed merrily. She felt her cheeks warm once more. "No, no, fledgling. If a vampire causes problems in Anvil, I would _happily_ rip off their limbs and stake them out for the sun. Even if I _didn't,_ your kind cleans up their own messes. Like that beast who slaughtered the Cheydinhal guard." She stared at him once more, fear welling up. He couldn't know. "Yes, you've heard of that, haven't you. It put a lot of people on edge. I'd wager it's hard for even a normal burglar to operate in that city right now, much less a vampire."

She nodded slowly. "I had nothing to do with that." It wasn't _really_ a lie. She hadn't exactly been in control of her actions, and she couldn't remember the details. It was almost, _almost_ like another person entirely had done it.

He laughed again, and she smiled uncertainly in response. "Nine, no. You're a _year old,_ fledgling. Most vampires your adge would have trouble with a gang of schoolchildren, much less the armed, armored, and most importantly, _trained_,_ organized _city guard."

He reached out to ruffle her hair, laughing again when she reflexively tried to duck out of the way of his descending hand.

"Come, fledgling, help me clean up this mess, hm?"

* * *

They made their way into Anvil shortly after dusk, despite Ariel's protests. Martin couldn't explain the sense he had - it was an intuition, he supposed, and his gut had never steered him wrong. The Bosmer girl, this "Alyssia," would be necessary in the coming days. He was certain of it.

Ariel had a word for it. She called it "infatuation."

Martin didn't want to think terribly hard on _why_ he was so focused on the girl. For one, he found it difficult to focus on the question itself. For another -

He spotted her by the city's lighthouse, and pointed her out to his traveling companions. Ariel gave him an odd look, then wordlessly produced a vial of potion, dabbing one drop onto each of her eyelids. It wasn't _that_ dark out, was it?

He shook his head as Ariel gave the vial to Roth.

The Bosmer girl made her way down to the cellar of the lighthouse, producing a key.

"How do you suppose she got that, hm?" Ariel asked it quietly, so as not to draw her attention.

Martin shrugged in reply. "Let's go ask her, hm?"

The reek of gore was overpowering.

A dog sat, panting, at the Bosmer's heel, its mouth bloodied. There was the mark of long violence on the poor animal, and a half-crazed look in its eye, but it seemed calm - for the moment.

Nude bodies were stacked on the cellar's shelves - most had been partially eaten, and all had begun to rot.

The elf stood frozen at the center of the cellar, apparently frozen in place. Martin pushed away visions of Kvatch, walking the handful of steps he needed to reach her. "Alyssia," he murmured.

Her eyes were open wide, unblinking, the pupils shrunk to thin slits. Her nostrils were flared, and her mouth slightly open, putting her small fangs on display.

"Snap out of it, come on."

* * *

A voice called to her, serenading, crooning. It pierced the roaring triumph of the beast inside her mind, and she became a person again in bits and pieces, ever so slowly.

"Come on, let's get out of here."

Lyssi shook her head to clear it, holding up a single finger. "Need - book." She managed to bite the words out around the sick feeling in her throat. She'd spotted some kind of a journal, before she'd lost herself. Fortunately, she didn't have to explain herself any further. Understanding dawned in the priest's eyes. He covered his mouth and nose with the sleeve of his robe, peering about. "Is that a head?" He asked it in quiet wonder, and she nodded once.

It was, indeed, a head, set upon a plate, withered and rotted from age. The hair had just recently been brushed, and a careful hand had applied some kind of makeup to its face.

She couldn't focus, couldn't think. All she could hear was Martin's heartbeat, the blood surging through his veins. So much had been spilt and she wanted - needed - a taste. She felt herself shaking, every inch of her quivering like a skooma addict, desperate for a hit.

Martin was the one to spot the leatherbound journal, its pages lying open for anyone to read. Lyssi only just managed to tear her eyes away from his neck as he made his way to the book.

Outside, she could hear the sound of someone retching, and she used that to ground herself, distracting herself, momentarily, from the ravenous hunger.

Pages turned, and she had to stop him. She had to - he would learn everything.

She couldn't let herself get any closer. Martin was the only person still living that she didn't want to have to kill. She couldn't - wouldn't - let a careless mistake jeopardize his life, and she was _so_ hungry.

"Don't," she asked, instead. There was a note of pleading in her voice she couldn't help.

Finally, she let herself glance back in his direction - surely looking wasn't so bad, was it? She wouldn't lose control just staring at him, the way his pulse jumped and danced in his throat - no. She dragged her gaze up to his face. His mouth was set in a hard, angry line as he read.

"Please, stop?"

She refused to force him, but ... it was the only way, wasn't it?

He paused then, to look from the book to the carnage. His eyes settled on her, and his expression cut her like a knife. The disgust - the betrayal. He kept his voice even, but only barely. "I _healed_ you - I trusted in you ... you _monster._ Is _this_ why you needed to get to Anvil?"

She hadn't meant for him to follow her this far. "I ..."

"You _what?_ This looks ... bad, Alyssia." He gestured at the severed head, laughing a bit bitterly. "You're a _vampire._ This ... is this your _lair?_ Your home? Is that your mother?" He pointed at the severed head. "She's _dead._ You might have noticed."

_Wait, what?_

She shook her head, just staring at him blankly. His heart was racing with his anger, and it was impossible to think with such a distraction. He threw the book at her, and she caught it in numb fingers, looking down at it in confusion. What?

"So that's it. You needed to get back, to ... what? Finish disposing of the bodies? Feed? This is _revolting."_ He stormed toward the door, indignation in his every step. "Never speak to me again."

"I - no - listen - "

He whirled toward her again. "So you can fill my head with _lies?_" His eyes were like chips of ice. "Why can't I remember our first meeting, _Alyssia?_ Is that even your real name, vampire?" She fell silent, staring down at the ground, hugging the book to her chest.

At her heel, the dog growled slightly.

"Answer me."

She felt tears welling up, but she pushed them back, swallowing heavily. "This isn't my work." Her voice sounded tiny, even to her own ears, strong as they were.

He folded his arms. "So. Why can't I remember."

"I didn't mean - " She shook her head again, swiping at her eyes.

He laughed a bit, but there wasn't any humor to it. "You didn't mean _what?_ You didn't mean for me to find out?" He threw his hands up in the air. "Well _obviously!_ Why else would you wipe my memory?"

"I didn't want you to know - "

He cut her off, glaring fiercely. "You _violated_ my mind."

She flinched, staring down at the book. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. The tears fell freely. She hung her head; her hair fell in her face, partially masking her shame.

Warmth enveloped her, and she stared up at him shocked confusion. "Nine, girl. I don't know what to do with you at all." One of his hands ran through her hair, and she sensed him giving the carnage one last look. "Just ... if this is all compulsion - no, don't tell me. Not right now."

"You should go," she mumbled into his chest. He was so warm. A tiny bite wouldn't hurt, would it? The beast inside helpfully reminded her of the euphoric high his blood gave. "Should leave me."

There wasn't any conviction to her tone. She didn't want to be alone anymore.

"I'm taking you out of here." His voice was soothing, and she found herself hypnotized. His scent, the call of his blood, overpowered even the stench of the bloated corpses. She'd do _anything_ for another taste. "After that, we can talk, okay?"

She found herself nodding in agreement with whatever he had to say, leaning in for a tiny sip.

"No biting." He swatted her once, like he might an unruly pet. She caught the finger between her teeth, nicking his skin.

It was enough.

Lightning shot through her as the first drops touched her tongue. She suckled _just so,_running her tongue along the digit in long, sensual strokes. A strangled noise escaped him, and he hastily retrieved his hand.

"No." He said it quietly, strain in his voice. "Not here." Her stomach calmed after only one sip.

Lyssi obliged him, stepping back with a tiny smile.

She had the feeling she'd be smiling more often in the coming nights.

She followed Martin as he quickly vacated the cellar, hugging the book to her chest. She thought she might follow him anywhere ... if only for another bite.


	34. Chapter 34: Control

**Author's Note:** Whoo, Real Life occurred. For the time being I have some time to write.

The things happening in this chapter are either romance or mind control. Take your pick, both stances are equally valid.

**Disclaimer:** I own two copies of Oblivion, one for the PC, one for the XBox. Last I checked, that did not confer ownership of the title to me. That ownership lies with Bethesda.

* * *

**Nobody Important**

_**Chapter Thirty-Four: Control**_

_In which it's lost. Again._

By: N3k0

* * *

It was like walking out of a dream into a nightmare.

One moment, all she could think about was the warm tingling spreading throughout her body, the deep hum of Martin's blood in her veins.

The next, she was seized by her arms, the angry Breton woman glaring into her eyes. Her blood was high, pumping quickly through her body. She smelled kind of sour, and Lyssi knew the woman had been the one to throw up. Not as edible. Vaguely, she realized the Breton had asked her something, that she was supposed to respond to it, probably.

"What?" she asked, dumbly.

The woman inhaled through her teeth. "I said, what in Oblivion are you playing at? Bringing him here, messing with his mind - what kind of monster are you? What was that about? What ... all those people ..." She turned away, dropping Lyssi for a moment. She looked like she might need to vomit again.

Lyssi blinked slowly, trying to piece together what the woman was on about.

"I didn't kill those people. So, I didn't know they would be there. I'm ... sorry?" Was that right? She thought that was the response she was supposed to give. All she could think about was the dull throbbing in her fangs. She wanted another taste of blood, she could still smell it, all around her, on her, in her. "The person who killed them needs to die." She nodded once. Preferably, she'd kill him. And eat him. So hungry.

The woman narrowed her eyes, peering at her. "I don't believe you."

"It's true. He's a traitor." Secrets, things were falling apart, she didn't care what she said, though. She just wanted to feed. Was that so wrong? "He has to die because he's a traitor."

There was a long silence, so she decided to fill it. "I'm hungry," she heard herself whine. The others looked at her, horror on their faces. She couldn't understand why, at first. When she did, she felt her cheeks color, which only made her stomach rumble. It wasn't her fault. She ducked her head, embarrassed. "Well, I am," she muttered.

She could feel them, looking at each other, then at her. Words were traded without any sound.

The Nord rolled up one sleeve, offering his forearm to her. Her eyes lit up, and she sank her fangs eagerly. The man grunted as she swallowed greedily.

"What do you mean, a traitor?" The woman murmured it to Lyssi, keeping her voice soft.

Lyssi had to release the Nord to respond. She heard the words leave her mouth before she could think about them. "He killed his Brothers and Sisters."

"And, why do you have to kill him?" The woman was prodding for information she didn't need to have.

She frowned, licking the Nord's arm from elbow to wrist, thinking. Everything was so fuzzy. "He tricked me into killing them, too."

Martin sucked in a breath, as Lyssi traced healing light over the pinprick wounds in the Nord's arm. "You're the one he mentioned in his journal, aren't you."

"Dunno. Didn't read it." She returned to herself slowly, and with a sinking feeling in her gut. They already knew too much, though, what was a little more, really?

You should kill them when you get the chance. She heard Vicente's voice in her head, but no - she knew she wouldn't obey. She liked the humans too much. You loved your Family.

Martin and Ariel traded another look. "We can't help her with this, Martin," Ariel spoke first.

Lyssi nodded. "They can't know you know."

"They?" Martin asked.

She looked away. "The Brotherhood. They'd kill you."

"Then we should part ways." He didn't sound like he liked that idea much.

She didn't much care for it either. She liked the nice healer, and something inside her had already staked a claim on him. Something inside her recognized that Martin was her human, and she was loath to give him up. But he was right, she knew he was. She nodded her agreement, worrying her lip with one sharp fang.

He was there, then, his lips capturing hers, his hands holding her shoulders, keeping her still while he worked a kind of magic over her. The quick, gentle kiss became something more than that, electricity arcing between them.

Several long moments passed before either one of them could speak. Finally, Ariel coughed politely. "We should be going. There's a lot of ground to cover between here and Chorrol."

Wordlessly, Martin turned away. Before long at all, it was just Lyssi and the half-mad dog.

Lyssi was rooted in place, caught completely flat-footed, and as the dog shared her will, it, too, was frozen for the moment. What in Oblivion ... ?

A faint smile crossed her lips, and she covered them with her fingertips.

He liked her!

"You know, I told you not to blush."

Lyssi turned, the dog growling at her heel, eyes wide. "... you saw."

The Dunmer nodded. "Don't worry, I'm not going to stop you." He smiled reassuringly. "Anyone who could do what that man has done needs to be put down." He glanced back toward the lighthouse, a scowl flittering across his features. "I am only sorry I had not seen what was going on in my city."

She peered at him, thoughtfully. "Will you help?"

"No." He shook his head, looking sad. "I can't afford to leave Anvil unprotected. If that monster returns, perhaps. I will, however, notify the authorities. Those people need a decent burial."

There was a long, uneasy silence between them. She broke it first. "I like him," she began.

"I would say more than _like,_ if you are letting him kiss you." He raised his eyebrow. "Unless he caught you by surprise?"

She shook her head. "I mean, he did. But ... I worry."

The Dunmer nodded. "You're afraid he _doesn't_ really like you."

"But he kissed me." She frowned. "That means he does, doesn't it?" She worried her lip again, drawing blood without thinking about it. Her tongue darted out to swirl against the wound.

He shook his head once. "It can mean any number of things. Especially for a vampire."

"I'm scared," she admitted.

Another nod. "Are you afraid of yourself, or of that boy?" He folded his arms, easily. While she worked out the answer, she took a moment to appreciate how different the smith's hunting garb was from his civilian clothes. He dressed in supple black leather, armed to the teeth with weapons that gleamed silver in the moonlight. Recognizing some of the pieces from the shop, she realized he probably made most of the gear himself.

"Both, I think," she replied finally.

He smiled once more. "That's a good sign. Now shoo, I've kept you here long enough."


	35. Chapter 35: North

**Author's Note:** And another! Woo, I'm on a roll.

**Disclaimer:** Nope, just a N3k0 with another amazing **fan**fiction chapter.

* * *

**Nobody Important**

_**Chapter Thirty-Five: North**_

_In which the hangover is a bit... painful._

By: N3k0

* * *

The trip north was a long one, but largely uneventful.

She stayed close to the roads, though not actually on them, running the countryside unseen and unheard. Her footfalls were lighter than air.

She had the evidence she needed for Lucien. She was almost _done_.

And Martin liked her! He really, truly, probably liked her!

Unless he was just under some kind of spell.

She didn't have the best control over her gifts. Was it possible to enthrall someone by accident? After all, she had tampered with his mind once already for certain.

And the way he reacted at the lighthouse ...

By the time dawn came and she had to seek shelter in a cave, she'd all-but convinced herself that not only did Martin _not_ like her, but that, if not for her vampiric gifts, she would be literally unlikeable.

And, naturally, the cave had a bit of a bandit problem.

She didn't bother to hide - she didn't want to. A part of her was itching for a real fight, something pure to take her mind off her doubts. That was how the first bandit caught her by surprise, wrapping huge, well-muscled arms around her chest.

"What do we have here," he murmured in her ear. "Are you lost, little girl?"

Flexing her arms once, she broke his hold on her, then elbowed him in the gut. She struck again for good measure, as the dog lunged from the shadows to latch onto the man's bare ankle. He dragged the bandit off his feet, wringing the leg this way and that.

Lyssi dragged the man up by his shirt, baring sharp, dainty little fangs for him to see. He shrieked like a little girl as she took his throat.

It was only after she'd drained him that she realized how drunk he had been.

That was okay, though.

She _liked_ the fire in her gut. It made her feel better.

So what if Martin - if _anyone_ - didn't really like her. She was an unstoppable vampire assassin. If they didn't like her, then by Sithis, they would fear her instead.

She grinned, swaggering into the main chamber.

Five on two?

Yeah, she could handle that.

* * *

Lyssi woke with the Divines' own headache. She cursed them for good measure, rolling away from the furry lump at her side.

She vaguely recalled bits and pieces of the night before. The men had been drinking, and so she'd dispatched them easily. She grimaced as she put her hand in a puddle of blood, moments before she realized it wasn't the world spinning out of control, but her head. Her stomach wrenched, forcing most of its contents back up in a red slush that exploded from her mouth.

Ew. Ewww.

There was a natural spring in the center of the cavern that she could bathe in, although it was cold and rather yellowish-tinged. A head floated in it, the expression on the face one of surprise. She ignored that, splashing herself clean as well as she could.

The smallest of the bandits had gear she could probably use. At least she'd be able to replace her broken things. Before long, she was outfitted and ready to continue north.

Her hair was drawn back into a loose ponytail, her knives were hidden on every inch of her person. Even the dog rose to face the day, though she tried to explain he didn't _have_ to follow her. He only growled. She couldn't be sure if he understood and disagreed, or if he simply didn't like human speech, but she didn't question it.

She was grateful for his company, regardless. The shy creature was almost as good as she was at hiding from the humans - and worse - that traveled the roads.

He didn't complain at the pace she set, and so she took more breaks and fed him strips of dried meat she'd taken from the bandits. At streams and rivers, she let him drink his fill, and she tried to ignore her disgust when he had to tend to other, more basic needs.

Before long at all, they approached the small farm of Applewatch.

Her stomach sank - even from a distance she could smell the reek of gore.

She was too late.

She clutched the straps of her backpack in cold fingers, following the path up to the house. The door fell open at the barest of touches, revealing a macabre sight.

Lucien hung from the ceiling by his ankles, scores of wounds gushing blood from every conceivable part of his body. Half-eaten entrails spilled from a gaping stomach wound. His face was twisted in pain, barely recognizable, in part because that, too, had been mutilated. Shredded flesh hung haphazardly from visible bones.

The dog sniffed at Lucien's face and growled softly, backing away. Strange. Maybe it was the poison - she could smell something not right mixed into the heady tang of blood, something that smelled inedible.

It took the high elf three tries to tear Lyssi's attention away from the corpse, and for several long moments she couldn't actually hear the words spoken over the roaring in her ears.

"... no longer will you serve as his puppet!"

Lyssi blinked, blinked again. "But I wasn't ..." The words escaped her before she could think about what she was saying.

"It seems Lacha ... what?" The Altmer fell silent for a moment. "Explain yourself."

It took all her strength to drag her gaze away from the carnage. "I was following orders ... but not Lucien's. Someone switched them." Huh. The high elf had smudges of blood around her mouth.

"That is a serious claim, Silencer." The Altmer's gaze was stern as she gripped Lyssi's shoulders with trembling hands. "What evidence do you have to support it?"

Lyssi backed away slightly, then shrugged the backpack off her shoulders. Fishing through it, she presented the journal for the Speaker's perusal.

The book trembled with the Altmer's hands.

"Sithis save us," she breathed.

A man's voice rang out then. "I'll kill you all!"


	36. Chapter 36: Mutilation

**Author's Note:** It's a thing!

I should not write when I'm sick but then I wouldn't write at all.

Long delay. Sorry.

**Disclaimer:** That thing, I don't own it, etc. etc. etc.

* * *

**Nobody Important**

_**Chapter Thirty-Six: Mutilation**_

_In which hands are bloodied._

By: N3k0

* * *

Two Speakers lay motionless on the floor, their blood adding to the reek of gore in the room.

HE stood triumphant over them, knife clutched in a white-knuckled grip.

And she smiled.

Here was the reason Vicente died.

Here was the reason her family had died.

Here was the reason Lucien was dead.

Here was the reason the Brotherhood was crumbling.

And it was just a man. A simple man, flesh and blood. He had a face. He had all the frailties of humanity at its best - and he was _not_ at his best.

He was a madman, and he had to die.

That, she understood.

"No!" The high elf screamed her denial, and Lyssi ignored it. All that mattered was her enemy.

A shadow split from the rest, a lizard-man, Argonian, with strong arms that wrapped themselves around her prey, holding him still. Excellent. She bared all her teeth in a grin, walking slowly as the human tried to escape.

The human knew fear. He reeked of it, his stench overpowering even the mess of the room.

"You will die," she murmured. "For your crimes, you will die."

Slowly.

She caught his eyes with hers.

Here was Mathieu Bellamont. He loved his dead mother dearly, and never really got over her loss. Lucien Lachance was the assassin who had killed her. Mathieu still saw her head roll across the floor every time he closed his eyes. It invaded everything he did.

He wanted, more than anything, to kill the Night Mother.

Here was she. Silencer. Pawn. Her hands stained with the blood of HIS victims.

She ruined everything by giving his very **soul** away to that Altmer _bitch._

"They're dead," the woman whispered, drawing Lyssi's focus outward again. She saw the man, Bellamont, as he _was,_ a tiny, scared shell of a human, covered in blood and his own urine. He knew who she was, _what_ she was, and he knew he was going to die so close to his goal he could taste it. He couldn't meet her eyes again, his gaze caught on her teeth. As though she'd drink his filthy blood.

"You will mutilate your own body, as you have maimed the Brotherhood." She heard her voice speak the words, though she could barely believe she said them. "Start by gouging your own eyes."

She met the Argonian's - Eshk's - eyes, nodding once. Though she read mistrust in the lizard's expression, he released the man's left hand, the blade hand. It trembled as Mathieu moved to obey her command.

When both eyes were slit and bleeding, pink tears rolling down his cheeks as he begged her not to continue, she spoke again. "Now cut your snake tongue out." It was barely above a whisper, but in the silence of the room it carried ominous weight.

He gagged on the blood as he fell to the floor. The lizard was obviously horrified. He'd let go of the prey.

Not like she needed physical restraints anyway ...

Crimson spilled from his mouth, garbled half-words escaping between his gurgling breaths.

She ordered him to cut each finger off of his right hand, then bite each finger off of his left.

Only when that was completed did she heal his wounds shut, keeping him from bleeding to death, but only barely. He would never speak with another again.

She looked around, expression dull as she met the Altmer's eyes, then the Argonian's.

Neither spoke.

There was a dull roaring in her ears. She felt every wound on the prey's body as though she'd carved them into her own flesh. Her eyes hurt, her hands hurt.

The world spun, already gray at the edges. She sank to the ground quietly as it finished going dark.

* * *

Some time later, she woke to see a Khajiit's furry muzzle filling her field of view.

Her whole body ached.

"The hunter wakes. This is good." The Khajiit smiled, showing all her teeth. "Ri'asha learns restoration to drain the life from foes, not so much to put it back in. She will tell Arquen; then we can begin, yes?" Ri'asha clapped her hands once, then disappeared, leaving Lyssi bewildered.

She peeked under the covers, inspecting her own body. Apparently, someone had meticulously tended to her lingering aches and pains - probably the Khajiit. Hnh.

Lyssi forced herself to sitting, a soft groan escaping her. Had it really only been a couple of days since she'd been skewered on that Daedra's sword? Surely not. Surely it was closer to a month ... no, it was really only a couple of days.

And now, here she was, donning the fine silk robe of a Speaker of the Black Hand, filling the void she'd helped to create. Strange how things had gone.

The house she woke in was nice for a house. The place was dusty and unused, uncluttered with the odds and ends of day-to-day living. But, the things that did fill it were things of quality.

A shadow detached itself from the wall as she strapped her blades to her person. She drew one, turning to face the shadow head on. He lifted his hands defensively, and she recognized the Argonian then: Eshk, the assassin Lucien had sent after her.

"I don't like you," he began.

She raised an eyebrow, gesturing with the dagger for him to continue.

He looked away. "I _hate_ you. What you did, it infuriates me."

"I know." She nodded once. By Sithis, but she hated herself, too.

When he settled his gaze back on her, it was unsettling, cold. "I don't have to like you. I don't even have to tolerate you."

"I won't let you kill me."

He nodded in return. "I know. There has ... it's strange to say this, but there has been too much death already." His voice was quiet, solemn. "And, despite my feelings, the Night Mother will forgive you."

She shook her head. "I will never forgive myself."

"Then why did you kill them?"

Someone had thoughtfully repaired her gear, sharpening her blades and mending the straps. She looked down, turning away. She was fully aware of the risk, but she knew he wouldn't kill her without his answer.

"If not me, then who?" Shaking her head, she smiled sadly. "The Purifiation was ordered." She realized belatedly she held the Blade of Woe - the first knife she'd used to kill. "If not me , then someone else." Someone who didn't care. Someone who would make it hurt. They were already dead. Dead because of the traitor. Her hands did the work, but it wasn't her decision. She couldn't have stopped it, and trying would have only gotten her killed, too. "If not me, then you."

He stared her down, his expression cold when she finally met his eyes. Still, he nodded once.

"Arquen sent me to fetch you, you know."

She raised her eyebrow, tilting her head to the side.

"We must consult the Night Mother."


End file.
